“This place is sexy as fuck,” I blurt. I have never seen a dwelling that was just naturally so unique and manly. I know it’s just wood and glass floating on water, but it oozes sex appeal. Just like Griffin.
“I don’t know what to say to that.” He chuckles and dips his head. “I’ll make sure to note that on the listing if I ever sell.”
“I might buy it from you,” I counter as he opens the gate to the lower deck, jumps on, and turns to help me. I make it effortlessly, but purposely land as close to him as possible so our torsos touch. It makes a warm shiver dance up my spine.
He pauses, reaches out, and brushes the back of his fingertips across my cheek to my hairline. Then he dips his head, his lips next to my ear. “You smell incredible.”
Heat explodes like a firework in my belly, shooting sparks through my veins. “It’s an essential oil called Serenity.”
He chuckles. “False advertising. Serenity is not what is happening inside me.”
“What is happening?” I can barely hear the words as they come out of my mouth I’m so breathless, so I don’t actually expect a response, but I get one.
He steps back, his lips brushing where his fingertips were moments before, and when he looks at me his eyes are hooded and dark with desire. “I’m not entirely sure, but it’s good. Great, even.”
“I agree.”
He grins and grabs my hand again, pulling me toward two oversize black wicker deck chairs filled with crimson pillows and positioned in front of a table that has a place to build a fire in the middle. It really is better than any restaurant he could have chosen.
“If the rain stops I’ll turn that on,” he tells me and points to the fire pit as I let myself collapse into one of the chairs. Calling it comfortable would be an understatement. “In the meantime there’s a throw over the back if you’re cold and…”
I watch as he leans over me and flips a switch. The hem of his sweater and shirt lift as he extends his arm, and I can see the slightest sliver of hard abs, wrapped in caramel skin, with a glimpse of a thick, dark treasure trail. It’s official—I’m wet. Damn, I have to get a grip on my hormones or I’m going to embarrass myself.
Heat lamps built into the overhang of the deck glow to life as he flips the switch he was reaching for. I’m instantly warm all over instead of just between my legs.
“I’ll be back in a flash,” he announces and unlocks the front door and steps inside the houseboat.
He returns a couple minutes later, and I realize he wasn’t just throwing out an idea. He had planned this whole thing out and done prep. He’s carrying a decanter full of wine and a big wood board with an array of meats, cheeses, fruits, and olives and pickles.
Both the wine and food are delicious. As we talk while we enjoy it, I realize how easy it is—like we’ve known each other forever. I don’t remember a first date ever being so easy. I wonder if that kiss in the parking lot is the reason or if it’s just because he’s perfect for me.
I ask him about how he ended up in hockey. “My younger brother Hunter and I were rambunctious, destructive little kids, always breaking toys, lamps, furniture, windows. My parents put us in every sport they could—hockey, soccer, football, baseball, swimming, just to tire us out. I fell head over heels in love with it.”
“And Hunter?”
“Sports made him miserable. By high school he was all about debate club and math club and making nerdism sexy,” Griffin says, and I laugh. “His exact words. In fact, he put it in his yearbook blurb as his life goal.”
“He sounds like a fun guy,” I reply and pop a feta-stuffed olive into my mouth.
Griffin nods. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”
“That’s how I feel about Winnie, Dixie, and Jude,” I reply and swirl my wine in its glass. “But if you tell any of them, I will deny it.”
He grabs a piece of salami. When he’s done chewing, he sips his wine and leans back in his chair. “Enough about my kid brother. Tell me what makes Sadie Sadie?”
I wasn’t expecting that question. It’s so simple and yet…it has me dumbfounded. Of all the men I’ve met and dated, no one has asked me that. He must realize I’ve been knocked sideways by that question, because he smiles again. It’s soft and kind and not amused or mocking at all, even though he could easily make fun of me since I’m coming off as a young adult who hasn’t figured herself out yet.
“I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly. “That’s not supposed to be a stumper at twenty-seven.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he replies easily and sips his wine. “Let me put it this way…what made Sadie Sadie before she became a rock in someone else’s situation?”
My mouth falls open. His smile deepens, and it’s so gentle and warm I want to wrap myself in it…in him.
“For me,” Griffin says, “I was a stock market nerd who couldn’t miss an episode ofThe Walking Deadand loved long, late nights with a good pinot and a true crime book before I had to become a rock for Charlie as she coped with the divorce.” He puts his wineglass down as he reaches for the bottle and tops up my glass before refilling his own. “I still manage to sneak in a glass of pinot now and then, but I have to marathonThe Walking Deadin the summer when she’s at day camp. I don’t have much time for the stock market anymore, and I’m usually too exhausted to read.”
I am truly flabbergasted at how similar his life sounds to mine but for completely different reasons. Instantly—just like that—what I’m feeling for him starts shifting from simple attraction to an actual connection.
I gulp my wine, swallow, and confess. “I loved horses and raising hell at country bars with my sisters and watching reruns Bob Ross’s TV show on lazy Sunday afternoons…before my dad was diagnosed.”
