“Don’t,” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Don’t what?” he laughs.
“Don’t look at me.” I start to pull the covers over my head when he snatches them away and tosses them halfway down the bed. “You’re a jerk.”
“You’ve said that before. I’m also late to work.”
“That rhymes. Late to work, you’re a jerk,” I yawn.
“This rhymes too. Give me a kiss, or I’ll be pissed.”
“That doesn’t rhyme,” I note, repeating it back to him. “See? Try this: I’ll give you a lick, you give me dick.”
He laughs, his phone dropping to his chest. “Sometimes you seem so cultured. Other times, you’re a cavewoman.”
“I don’t hear many complaints.”
“Okay, let’s try this one. Let’s go to dinner, make me a winner.”
“Ooh,” I say, kicking my feet until the blankets cover them. “I like that one. It makes it sound like I’m a prize.”
“That,” he says, groaning as he moves to kiss me, “is a fact.”
Our lips touch in the simplest, sweetest way. There’s no urgency this time, no desperation to connect in as many ways as possible. It’s like that’s been screwed out of our systems and now we’re on the other side. What that means, I have no idea. But I love the way it’s working out so far.
“Peck has a tractor coming in this morning. He just sent me a text,” he says, rolling out of bed. “I have to run home first and grab some clean clothes.” He slips on his jeans and shirt from last night before rummaging around under my bed for his hat. Sliding it on his head, pulling it snug, he holds his hands out in front of him. “You coming in later?”
“Maybe.”
Shaking his head, he heads to the door but stops in the doorway. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”
“Just go in there like that,” I say. “Your clothes look fine to me.”
His eyes hood. “They smell like your pussy.”
“Walker!” I exclaim, pulling the covers over my head.
The bed bounces as he jumps on it, locking me in with one hand on either side of my mummified body. His breath is hot against my cheeks from the other side of the blanket. “How can that embarrass you?”
“It just does.”
“Well, for the record, I love the smell of your pussy.” He exaggerates the word, his mouth forming every syllable against the fabric. “But I wouldn’t get anything done and God forbid Peck ask me why I was licking my shirt all day.”
“Go on,” I giggle, moving my body to encourage him to get up. “Get to work, slacker.”
The blankets rip down again. We’re face-to-face, his eyes twinkling. “Will you go on a date with me tonight? Like, to dinner or a movie or whatever it is people do on dates?”
“Are we going to Nana’s?” I tease.
“If you want. She’d love that. But I’d rather take you to this place on the other side of Linton. I haven’t been there in forever and I think you’d like it.”
Leaning up, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him to me. “I’d love to.”
Like a little boy on Christmas morning, his cheeks split. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
A kiss that smacks my cheek, a vibrating mattress as he leaps off, he’s out the door and in his truck before I can say goodbye. It’s just as well. If he would’ve stayed much longer, I probably wouldn’t have let him leave at all.
“‘BOUT TIME YOU SHOWED up.” Peck flips off the water and dries his hands off on a towel. “I got the tractor coming in any minute. They came for the SUV this morning and I got two more in and out already.”
“Good deal.”
I walk straight through the garage bay and make a beeline for the lobby, knowing the inquisition is coming and not wanting to face it yet. Whatever this is between Sienna and I is wild, like a truck on an incline with no brakes. I don’t know how it’s possible to keep it from running away and talking about it with Peck seems like the worst idea in the world.
As I expect, he chases after me like the pain in the ass he is.
“You know,” he says, the door closing behind him, “I’ve worked here for four years or so and I don’t think I’ve ever beat you to work once. Not even the time you had pneumonia. I beat you today by two hours. Hours. That’s like a hundred and twenty minutes.”
“Good job.”
“Cut the shit, Walker,” he laughs. “What’s going on? Were you with Sienna?”
“Is that really any of your business?”
“You’re goddamn right it’s my business,” he says, bewildered. “I’ve gone through a lot of shit with you. I’ve held your hand, gave you that little push you needed to get her in here. Hell, I’m practically Cupid at this point.”
“Will you shut the fuck up?” I laugh, picking up a pen and throwing it at him. He ducks, of course, and it misses him by a mile. He pops back up and grins. “You aren’t going to, are you?”