The Unhoneymooners

“Oh my God, shut up, honey,” Ami says, laughing and hitting his shoulder. “You are so gross.”

Everyone laughs except me, and I realize it too late, so my ha-ha-ha comes out like a pull-string toy.

But I think that’s my problem with Dane, in a nutshell: he’s gross. And unfortunately, my sister loves him, I’ve been hooking up with his brother, and not five minutes ago I gave Dane the all-clear wink. I made my decision; I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to put on my big-girl pants and deal.

chapter fifteen

I wanted to stay in Maui. I wanted to stay in bed with Ethan for weeks, and listen to the ocean while I fell asleep. But even so, the moment I’m back in my apartment, I want to kiss every piece of my furniture and touch every single thing I’ve missed for the past ten days. My couch has never looked so inviting. My television is way better than the one we had in the suite. My bed is fluffy and clean, and I can’t wait until it’s dark enough to justify taking a running leap into my pillows. I am a homebody, through and through, and there’s nothing like being home.

This feeling lasts about thirty minutes. Because after I’ve unpacked, I check my fridge and realize there’s nothing in there, so if I want to eat, I have to either order crappy delivery food, or put my pants

back on and leave the house.

I sprawl in the middle of the living room on my fluffy faux-fur rug and groan at the ceiling. If I’d gone to Ethan’s, I could have made him go get me food.

The doorbell rings. I ignore it because my family would just waltz right in like they own the place, and nine times out of ten it’s my upstairs neighbor Jack, a fiftysomething guy who pays way too close attention to my comings and goings. But then it rings again, which a few seconds later is followed by a knock. Jack never rings twice, and he never knocks.

Standing, I peek through the peephole and see a chiseled jaw, a long, muscular neck. I’ve missed that neck. Ethan! My heart reacts before my brain does—leaping happily into my throat—and so when I pull the door open with a grin, it takes a beat to remember that I’m not wearing pants.

Ethan smiles at me and then his eyes drop to my lower half and he makes the same seductive expression I know I’m directing at the bag of food he’s carrying.

“You missed me,” I say, taking the Chinese takeout from his hand.

“You’re pantsless.”

I smirk at him over my shoulder. “You should probably get used to it. I mostly behaved myself at the hotel, but ninety-nine percent of the time I’m home I’m in my underwear.”

He raises a brow and tilts his head toward the hallway I’m sure he’s guessed leads to my bedroom. I get it—in a movie we would be crashing against the wall, passionately pinballing our way down the hall toward the bed because we missed each other so much after an hour apart, but in truth, that airport run-in was stressful as hell, I am starving, and this takeout smells amazing.

“Garlic chicken first, sex second.”

I get all fluttery inside—and I am not normally a swooner—when he smiles at the way I’m diving into the food he brought. He kisses my forehead and then turns, easily finding my silverware drawer and grabbing us both some chopsticks. We stand in the kitchen, eating chicken out of the containers. Something inside me uncoils because I was happy to be home, but now I’m giddy. I feel more myself with him than without, and that happened so fast, it’s dizzying.

“My fridge was empty,” he tells me. “Figured yours was, too, and it was only a matter of time before you came to my door because you were so lonely.”

I shove a mouthful of noodles in my mouth and speak around them: “Yeah, that sounds like me.”

“So needy,” he agrees, laughing.

I watch him tuck into the Mongolian beef and give myself a few quiet seconds to stare at the face I’ve missed for the past hour. “I like that you just showed up,” I tell him.

“Good.” He chews and swallows. “I was pretty sure you would, but there was a twenty percent chance you’d be like, ‘Get the hell out of my apartment, I need to do a fancy bath tonight.’ ”

“Oh, I definitely want a fancy bath.”

“But after the food and sex.”

I nod. “Right.”

“I’ll snoop around your apartment while you’re doing that. I’m not a bath guy.”

This makes me laugh. “Do you think this feels so easy because we hated each other first?” I ask.

He shrugs, digging into the container for a giant piece of beef.

“We’re a week in,” I say, “and I’m pantsless and eating greasy food in front of you.”

“I mean, I saw you in that bridesmaid dress. Everything else is an improvement.”