And nothing else.
Holy.
Shit.
His feet were bare.
His chest was bare.
And dear God.
He had those sweatpants so low on his hips that I damn near saw pubic hair.
I licked my lips and tried not to stare at how freakin’ hot he was with his sweatpants and held up my bag of tacos.
“I brought tacos,” I said.
He blinked.
Then the most adorable smile lit his face as he said, “For me?”
I snorted and pushed past him, forcing myself not to stop when I got a whiff of how freakin’ good he smelled.
Dear, sweet baby Jesus.
I could do this.
I could get through this night without jumping the man.
I could do it.
I could do it!
I shivered.
“Cold?” he asked gruffly.
I nodded.
“You have it freezing in here,” I told him. “I would’ve put on a sweatshirt had I known you kept it this cold.”
The front door closed quietly behind me and I turned to watch him flip the lock and then turn to survey where I was standing in the middle of his living room.
“Let’s take it to the bar,” he suggested.
I turned to survey the bar to see it covered in mail.
“Umm,” I said. “That’s a lot of mail.”
He snorted and shoved it all to one side.
“My mom comes over and sorts through it for me,” he said. “For some reason, I get every single bill I pay by auto-pay in the mail each month. Then I’m getting all sorts of magazines now.” He paused. “Do you think when you hit a specific age that random places get your name from some master list and start sending you shit that they hope you buy?”
I snickered.
“Now that you mention it.” I set the tacos down onto the counter. “I’ve noticed an increase in my magazine amount, too.”
He laughed at that, his eyes going down to the bag of tacos on the counter.
“I’m starving,” he said, his eyes flicking up slightly over the bag.
That was when I realized that my nipples were on prime display.
Seriously, had I known that he kept it this cold, I would’ve worn a bra and brought my sweatshirt.
He looked away with a faint flush to his cheeks, and I tried not to think about what that meant.
Instead, I started to unload the tacos and queso from the bag, as well as the chips and guacamole.
In all, I’d gotten twelve tacos.
I wasn’t really sure how many the man could eat on his own, but I’d hoped that it wasn’t more than ten, because I was eating two of those bad boys myself. The last time I’d taken my brother out he’d eaten six, ordered four more, and had eaten what was left of my chips and queso.
So… I got a lot, anticipating that he had a similar appetite.
“I hope I got enough,” I said, bringing my hands up to my arms and running them up and down.
His eyes went to my hands, once again to what I assumed were my nipples, and then he turned.
I watched as he paced to the couch and came back with a black KPD SWAT sweatshirt and tossed it my way.
“I wore it today,” he said as he tossed it. “But only after I took a shower and came home. I slept in it until I got too hot.”
I immediately slipped it on, both grateful that he’d given me something to cover my should’ve-worn-a-bra breasts as well as the fact that it was indeed cold as the dickens in his duplex.
“You got hot?” I asked him. “It’s like a meat locker in here.”
His mouth twitched.
“It’s like sixty degrees at the lowest,” he countered. “And what’s the point of paying for heat to come on when I like it cold? I sweat all damn day at work in my body armor. And when I was deployed, it was even fucking hotter. I just… being hot isn’t a good thing for me. So when I have a choice, I keep it cold.”
I studied him for a bit before bringing the sweatshirt up.
I sighed as I pulled it over my head and held in the moan that wanted to escape right along with it.
Jesus, he smelled good.
“This smells fantastic,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying.
“Deodorant.” He chuckled as he reached to grab a taco.
Then, like the man he was, he ate it standing up.
I took the stool next to him and ate two tacos in the time that it took him to eat eight.
“Don’t forget the guac,” I told him, pushing it toward him.
He popped the lid off and dug a chip in, bringing it up to his mouth with a happy groan.
His eyes met mine and he gestured to the guac with a tilt of his head.
I shook my head.
“I’m probably the only person on the planet that doesn’t like guacamole.” I paused. “Or avocados, for that matter.”
He frowned.
“You don’t like avocados?” he asked.