I feel the strangest blend of pure, 100-proof affection mixed with cheek-staining attraction and a dash of friendly fondness. So I’m not shocked that my heart pounds as I wait for his reply.
His mouth opens slightly. His full lips press together for a moment—in which I wink. “I didn’t think so.”
I hold out my hand. I’m not sure what I expect of his response. Maybe for him to step inside my outstretched arm and come inside with me, like an animal I’m herding. Instead, he takes my hand and laces his long fingers through mine. His fingers squeeze mine slightly and his hand draws mine a fraction closer to his chest.
I watch his eyebrows notch as he tilts his head, his lips curving just slightly. “You’re in a mood today.” The words are quiet. His eyes are, as ever, intense, and underscored by his peculiar brand of kind curiosity. Not curiosity about a certain thing but just…interest in me. At least, that’s how it feels.
Every time I see him, I feel more and more addicted to it.
Since he’s laced our fingers together, I tug him lightly toward my door. “I’m in a giving mood. You look like the zombie version of yourself and I would hate to kick my sensei’s ass.”
His lips twitch, and I’m pleased to see he can’t keep his mouth from blooming into a teasing smile. “You really want to go there?”
“You want to tell me you’re all good so your new friend doesn’t worry about you?”
As soon as the words fly out, accompanied by what I’m pretty sure is my concerned look, I want to disappear into a sinkhole. Way to go, Einstein. Start off dinner with a nagging, mother-hen comment.
My hand tenses in his, but Barrett doesn’t let mine go as I push my front door open, looking over my shoulder at him. His mouth is pressed into a line, but the corners twitch a little. “Worried about me?” The words sound light but his eyes are unhappy. Probably embarrassed, since I came on so strong. ARGH.
My hand is sweating, so I let his go and push the door open, waving him in. “Guests first. And no, I’m not really worried,” I lie. “I’m that friend who sends presents when it’s not a holiday and gives excessive hugs. Former actress, you know? You seem tired and
I skipped dinner, so I thought…” I shrug.
He doesn’t answer. His eyes move around my living room, then shift to my own.
“It smells good,” he says simply.
I smile. “Thanks.”
We walk into the kitchen and I think he seems distracted as he looks around. “Sit down if you want.” I pull out a chair. “I’ll get our plates. I’ve got chicken tetrazzini casserole and some seasoned green beans, plus rolls.” I keep my gaze away from him as he sits at the table. “What kind of drink do you want? Dr. Pepper? Water? Tea?”
“Water is fine.”
I pour him some water, me some sweet tea, and focus on making our plates. “Green beans?” I ask, glancing at him.
“Sure.”
Damn, his shoulders look wide in my little chair. His wavy hair, the way it curls around his nape…
I swallow. Have I always been this reactive, or is it because I’ve subjected myself to such a long dry spell? I press my thighs together. “So what have you been doing over in that lair of yours?” My voice sounds unsteady and husky. Damn. I swallow as he looks over his shoulder. I can see a smile flirt with the corner of his mouth.
“Lair?” he asks as I heat up his plate in the microwave.
“Lair: a secret or private place in which a person seeks seclusion.” I infuse my voice with confidence so he won’t know my heart is pounding 90 percent of the time that I’m around him.
I bring his plate and glass to the table, sweating slightly, even though it’s not hot in here.
“Oopsie, silverware.” I take some pieces from the drawer and set them in the correct places on the table. “Sorry I don’t have a placemat or anything. I’m pretty low-key these days.”
“I am too.”
My footsteps on the floor are the only sound as I get my own plate and glass and cutlery together and sit down across from him.
I pluck a napkin from the holder at the middle of the table. I feel painfully shy as I look over at him.
He laughs.
“What?”