I gesture toward the kitchen. “You, uh… need help with anything?”
She frowns down at her jeans, the same ones encasing her luscious ass. “Would you mind terribly if I changed into sweats?”
Maybe I could help you with that.
There goes my brain again, egging me on with an enticing and entirely unhelpful suggestion, which damn near makes it past my lips before I rein it in.
I slug back my beer, buying myself a few moments and hoping I can blame the flush in my face on the heat wafting off the stove.
“Is that a no?”
It’s then I realize I haven’t bothered answering her and she’s still watching me intently.
“Obviously. Comfort wins.” I slip past her into the kitchen and grab the wine. “I’ll open this while you get changed.”
By the time Kiki reappears five minutes later, I’m calm.Calmer, anyway.
Until my eyes drift over her frame.
She’s wearing a pair of black sweats that hang low on her hips, topped with a long-sleeved shirt that just barely covers her waist. Her dark hair is up now, wound into a loose bun, exposing the smooth lines of her throat.
Now, I’m holding back from tackling her onto the couch and stripping every stitch of clothing from her body.
Does she look comfortable? Absolutely. But if her dressing down is supposed to be a turn off, it backfired spectacularly.
Because her in sweats? Indelibly more delicious than her in jeans.
And I didn’t think that was fucking possible.
She’s usually polished, even when she’s dressed casually for pizza or a movie, her makeup and hair fixed just right, everything in place.
But now, she’s relaxed. Unguarded. And beautifully real.
This is how she’d look in the morning after snuggling against her all night.
By far, the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, which is posing a huge problem.
She’s my friend. She’s going through a whole bunch of crap right now, including a divorce. Not once has she mentioned anything about feelings toward me that extended beyond basic.
Plus, she’s older than me, and I’m guessing it’s more than a few years. Not thatIgive a shit, but I know from her reaction to finding out my age, thatshedoes.
A litany of reasons why we’re a bad idea, but if I got the inkling she feltanything, I’d bust out of this friend zone so fast.
But for now… it’s business as usual.
Kiki joins me in the kitchen, offering a smile as she lifts the lid on the saucepan and gives it a stir. “Full disclosure, I made spaghetti and meatballs for Theo, but I can fix something else if you’d rather.”
“That’s fine. Nothing like paschetti and meatballs, although I’m letting Theo know he missed his favorite meal. That’s punishment for ditching us tonight.”
Kiki winks, giving me a gentle hip check. “You know I’m sending you home with leftovers for Theo, right?”
“Of course you are.”
Meanwhile, I’ll ignore how nice her body felt brushing against mine.
Jesus, I’m never surviving this dinner without saying or doing something stupid.
So, I shift my focus to her cabin. After all, that’s a big part of what she needs me around for, right? Not that I mind. She’s offered to pay me handsomely for every light bulb and screw placed, but I’ve never taken a dime.
