He edged closer and kissed my cheek. Then he inhaled deeply. “You smell good too,” he added huskily.
Maybe it was because of the kiss at my workplace, but there seemed to be an inordinate amount of sexual tension between us. I touched his firm chest. “How much do you work out?”
“I used to be a fanatic, but I don’t go to the gym as much anymore, especially since...”
“Noah entered your life?”
“Yeah. I used to go after work, but I need to figure out how to reincorporate exercise into my schedule. Why do you ask?”
“I can tell you have an incredible body.”
“You’re making me blush.”
“I doubt you’re the blushing type,” I said.
Slowly, we both stopped smiling. He took my hand and slipped it beneath the hem of his shirt, the movement slow and unhurried. Warm skin met my palm as I smoothed my hand over his solid flesh. His muscles tightened, reacting to my touch. I inhaled softly, my eyes locked on his as he watched me the entire time.
I eased my hand across the ridges of his abdomen and theninched upward, the faint rasp of his chest hairs grazing my fingers.
“You’re staring,” I murmured.
“So are you.”
My thumb traced the edge of his pec and encountered the steady thudding of his heart beneath bone and muscle. Much faster than before.
He stepped closer, erasing the small space between us. My hand remained under his shirt, trapped between us and pressed against his chest. Without breaking eye contact, he lifted the bottle of beer from my other hand and placed it on the counter.
“You were making a comment about my body.”
“Was I?”
“Yeah. You said something about it being incredible?”
“Oh yeah,” I breathed. My body throbbed with longing. I tilted my lips higher, desperate for him to kiss me.
His eyes became heavy-lidded as they dipped to my lips. “I can’t concentrate when I’m so close to you.”
“Then stop trying.”
A smile ghosted his mouth, and his hand slid to the small of my back, urging me closer until the tips of my breasts pressed into his chest. The tension between us cracked and coiled tighter.
But just as he started lowering his head, a knock sounded at the door.
Marcus paused, his eyes locked on my parted lips, my entire body tight with anticipation.
He cursed softly and reluctantly pulled back. “I need to get that. It’s probably our food.”
Disappointed, I slipped my hand from under his shirt. He went to the door, and sure enough, a man stood outside with our pizza. I picked up my beer and moved to the table, and when Marcus brought over the pizza, we sat down to eat.
The hunger we had felt for each other transferred to the food. Marcus told me the restaurant was a spot a couple of miles away that he frequented because they had great prices and the food was delicious, and he wasn’t kidding. Half pepperoni and half sausage, it was genuinely the best pizza I’d ever had.
We talked as we ate about all sorts of topics. This wasn’t the fancy date I had envisioned when he first asked me out, but I believed it was just as good in a different way—comfortable and relaxing without the formality of a fine dining restaurant.
I learned a lot about him as we chatted. We both enjoyed the outdoors—hiking, fishing, camping—and I also learned that he skied, something I had never personally tried. He had attended Black Ski Weekend in Colorado for the past five years straight, though he admitted he wasn’t only going for the skiing.
He was originally from Atlanta, where his parents and sisters currently lived with their families. I told him I was the youngest of four and that my parents had passed away a few years apart. My siblings all lived in other states, but we kept in touch through a family group chat.
After we finished eating, we moved to the living room, and Marcus turned on Netflix.
