Still smiling, I shake my head. “No deal. Tonight counts just as much as the other two. Red, I hadfun.”
She doesn’t believe me; I can see it in her eyes.Jesus, does she only think she’s worth spending time with if there’s sex involved? Or is this an escort thing?
“I’m really going to insist,” she says after a beat. “Tonightshouldn’tcount. All I did was say hello and then fall asleep.” I open my mouth to push back one last time, but she talks right over me. “Call the agency for another date. One you can pay for.”
I hate paying for any of them. Not because I’m cheap, but because I want todateher.
But I can tell now’s not the time to have that conversation. She’s too on edge after waking up, too scared of something I’m not seeing. So I simply nod my agreement. “Alright.”
When she seems relieved by my answer, I know I made the right call. I’ll fight her insecurities, or whatever this is, another day.
Our conversation over, the air fills with awkward tension. I’m not sure she wants to stay, and I don’t know how to ask her. But I also don’t want to kick her out.
“Just so you know, Andy survived eliminations,” I say casually.
Thank God it works. She lets out a soft laugh and says, “I assumed he would. That man is the people’s princess. I love him.”
Encouraged by her answer, I take a chance and ask, “Want to watch it again?”
Whoops. Too much too soon.
Her lips purse and she glances at the door. “I should probably get going.” But she sounds regretful.
I nod. “I understand. I’ll get your sweater.”
Standing, I reach for the sweater she laid on the opposite couch and hold it up for her to slip into. She sends me a grateful smile before turning her back and letting me slide it on.
When she turns to face me, she’s far closer than I anticipated.
Do I imagine the hitch in her breath? I don’t know, but I’m not imagining the way her gaze drops to my lips.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I swallow roughly. “You’re welcome,” I respond, my voice like gravel.God, she’s so beautiful.
But I can’t kiss her. I shouldn’t eventouchher right now.
Thankfully, she takes the decision out of my hands. Because she reaches up slowly and pulls the collar of my shirt to the side.
“Did you get a new tattoo?” She’s barely breathing as she asks the question.
I’m barely breathing as Ianswerit. “I did. Last week. Just a small one.”
She tugs it farther to the side. “What is it?”
I hesitate for a beat, then say, “It’s easier to show you if I take my shirt off.”
There. The ball is in her court now. If she’s truly thrown off by our boundaries tonight, she’ll say no and leave.
Instead, she meets my eyes and nods. “Okay.”
Slowly, I reach back with one hand to grip the collar of my shirt and pull it over my head.
“Why is it so sexy when guys do that?”
My lip twitches at her question. I don’t think she meant to say that out loud, especially when her cheeks pinken. I don’t tease her about it, I just point at the tattoo and explain, “They’re paw prints from my childhood dogs. I’ve been wanting to get it forever.”
Her gaze zeroes in on the ink, awe in her eyes as she lifts a hand and gently traces over the raised ink above my collarbone. “They’re beautiful,” she whispers.
