Page 13 of Hooked on Love

“Had?”

“Cancelled the rest of June this afternoon.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking exhausted. “I gave everyone refunds, apologized profusely. Lost probably ten grand in revenue, easy.”

“Oh my god, Jake.”

“Yeah.” He lets out a long breath. “So. Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while. Unless you want to kick me out, which honestly, I’d understand.”

I should say yes, tell him to find somewhere else, that this isn’t going to work for that length of time, that I need my space. But instead, I hear myself say, “You can stay.”

He beams. “Yeah?”

“I mean, it’s not ideal for either of us, but Danny’s clearly not going to help, and you don’t have anywhere else to go, and…” I hesitate, then decide to be honest. “I don’t hate having a strange man as a roommate as much as I thought I would.”

His grin widens. “Glad to hear it.”

We finish eating, and I start to clean up, but Jake waves me off. I want to argue, but honestly, I’m exhausted. So I let him take care of the dishes while I return to the couch, kicking off my work flats and tucking my feet under me.

He finishes and comes into the living room, drying his hands on a dish towel. He gestures to the TV. “You want to watch something? Or are you heading to bed?”

I check my phone. 8:15 PM. Early, but I’m wiped.

“I should probably go to bed,” I say reluctantly. “Early morning tomorrow.”

“Yeah, same here.”

Neither of us moves.

“Thanks again for dinner,” he says as I start to stand.

“Thanks for coming home.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and my face heats immediately. “I mean—not like—I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” His voice is low and close and rough in a way that has my pulse spiking. Our eyes meet, and for a second something charged and completely inadvisable passes between us.

I clear my throat, slipping past his towering, stonewall of a frame mere inches away. The heat from his chest lingers around me and I nearly pause mid-step simply to be closer to him. It’s been…a long time since I’ve been with a man, or on a date, for that matter.

I can’t even tell you the last time someone touched me, hugged me, kissed me…

How depressing.

I inhale deeply, his musky, manly scent flooding my senses before I sigh. “Well, um, goodnight.”

I make it two steps before his hand catches my wrist.

Not rough or demanding. Warm. His fingers wrap around me like a question.

I stop breathing.

“Peyton.”

The strain in his voice has me turning slowly, and he’s right there, so close I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. The shadow of stubble along his jaw. The way his broad chest rises and falls just a little too fast.

“Yes?” I breathe.

His gaze drops to my mouth as his thumb strokes across the inside of my wrist—once, twice—and I feel it everywhere. He swallows hard. His eyes meet mine again and there’s a kind of loneliness in them I know all too well. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t let go right away, his hand still wrapped around my wrist, his body close enough that if I leaned forward a mere inch—

He releases me suddenly, stepping back and putting distance between us like he needs it to take his next breath.