“Doesn’t matter,” I say too quickly. “Just like this. None of it matters.”
His jaw tightens, and his eyes sharpen just a fraction. “Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice is quieter now and serious.
This isn’t a joke for him. Not something he’ll laugh about later. And it’s obvious he cares. Maybe more than he should.
His gaze doesn’t leave mine, as if he’s memorizing the answer.
My chest tightens. Because the answer should be yes. It should be pretty damn easy since he’s more or less a stranger.
But somehow it suddenly isn’t.
“I don’t know,” I admit, frowning.
And that might be the most dangerous thing I’ve said since meeting him.
He stares at his finger now, eyes narrowing around our matching ink. “My parents are gonna love that.”
That earns a laugh I immediately regret. “Parents? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
His gaze fixes on me. “Catholic. Staunch Catholic. There’s no room for Elvis… orthis,” he says wagging his finger.
“Something we have in common,” I say, relief threading my voice, though I don’t know why. “I am, too.”
“Well, that’s at least something,” he says, face somber. He doesn’t speak after that, just rests his forearm on his eyes again like he’s taking a nap.
I can’t take the silence.
“You have to say something.”
“Like what?” he asks, stretching and grimacing. “Too soon to move,” he groans.
That sends a pulse low where it shouldn’t. Low. Immediate. Impossible to ignore.
I squeeze my legs together, feeling the proof again… of what we did. Of what my body is suddenly begging for.
Heat and breath. Eyes that simmered, fingers that grazed over warm flesh… and something I wasn’t counting on.
Reverence.
“I dunno,” I confess, barely able to move my head.
“Don’t know what?”
“Exactly what we did last night. It’s all still kind of a blur.”
“That memorable?” he mutters, shifting his head just enough to look at me.
“Well, what do you remember?” I fire back.
“Enough.”
Enough and not much. Winning combination. “You know, my mom won’t be too pleased by this, either,” I say eyeing my ink.
“Looks pretty permanent to me,” he says, clearing his throat, and moving carefully to turn toward me.
“All of this does,” I say. “What do we do?”
“First, sleep some more. Then, get breakfast,” he says firmly.
