When he came back out, a delivery person was waiting with a massive bouquet of flowers.
“Are you sure you’ve got the right room?” He eyed the arrangement. “David Watson?”
“Pretty sure.”
He paused, staring down at the delivery person’s feet. Pink sparkly tennis shoes. Only one person he knew wore shoes with that much pink glitter. He was smiling like a fool as he pushed the door closed, set the arrangement on the floor, and pulled Emmy Lou against him.
“I’m assuming you knew it was me?” She laughed, breathless. Damn but he’d missed that smile. “Or is this the way you tip all the delivery people?”
“Only when I don’t have cash on me.” He pushed back the hoodie, her hair on end from static.
“That makes sense.”
“Hold on,” he murmured, bending forward. Her lips were soft beneath his. Soft and clinging, parting enough for their breath to mingle. “What’s with the getup?”
“I thought I’d try to be more discreet this time.” She smiled up at him, blinking rapidly. “Your dad?”
“He’s sleeping.” He smiled. “Not that he’d disapprove.”
“How is he doing?” She leaned against him. “His color looks better. A lot better.”
“He’s doing well.” And Brock was beyond grateful. “Dehydration was the cause of a lot of it—even some of his memory issues. They’ve adjusted his meds and he seems more like his old self than I’ve seen him in a long time.” He pressed his nose to the top of her head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the hell are you doing here?”
“Daddy flew back for a meeting at the record company, just for tonight, so I tagged along.” She frowned up at him. “I missed you and I thought I’d surprise you.”
“You did?” He sat, pulling her into his lap.
But she didn’t melt into him the way he wanted. “You missed me, too?”
He rested his forehead against hers. “Did I?”
“Don’t make me tickle you.” Her eyebrow shot up. “I was also curious about the Alpha shoot this morning. How did it go?”
“Everyone was professional. Nice. I’m not used to taking pictures in underwear for four hours in front of a roomful of strangers, but the Alpha people seemed good with it.”
“Why wouldn’t they? They’re getting to use your butt to sell their underwear. It’s a nice butt.”
“Are you saying you’ve checked out my rear?” He smiled.
“I have. Many times.” She looked up at him. “Underwear is good. Football pants are terrific. But my favorite is uncovered.” She lowered her voice. “In bed or in the shower or on that ottoman—”
“Emmy Lou,” he groaned, shifting in the chair. “You’re not playing fair.”
“I’ll behave.” She sighed but then she went rigid, her green eyes widening. “Oh.” She tried to push out of his lap. “Last night.”
“What are you doing?” He didn’t let her go.
“Your ribs. That hit looked bad.” She lifted her hands. “And here I am lying all over you.”
“I like it when you lie all over me.” He waited, loving the color in her cheeks. “You watched the game?”
“You know I watched the game.” She rolled her eyes. “You were playing, weren’t you?”
“I was. Played hard, too. Then spent most of the night tossing and turning.”
She frowned. “Your ribs were hurting?” She tried to get up again.
He grabbed hold of the front of her hoodie and tugged her against him. “That was only part of it. You weren’t there.”