As usual, his eyes can’t help but trace the curves of her body, new ones now, too, along with those that have become familiar since they decided on this crazy plan, the smooth planes of her shoulder blades, her slightly knobby knees, the flex of muscle in her calves when she pushes up on her tiptoes to smooth out the shoulders of his shirt because the hook is a little too high for her reach.
That’s the real problem though. He’s always been turned on as all hell by her mind – her brilliance was the very first thing he loved about her – but it didn’t hurt that she was absolutely beautiful. He was in enough trouble before, when he was captivated by the flare of her hips into her ass and the sweet rise of her breasts, and fuck . . . now, it’s her back dimples and knees that do it for him too?
How the hell did he get in this deep?
“There,” she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Wrinkle-free.”
He takes it from her, making a concerted effort to keep some space between them. He camped out on the couch the night before, Julie’s knowledge of their fengagement not giving them any excuse to share, and it’s just . . . better that way. He’s pretty sure another night in the same bed would have been too muchfor him. He would have had to call the whole thing off and figure out another way to help her because . . . shit, now she’s looking up at him as he buttons up his shirt and her eyes are wide and blown nearly black.
Is she . . . turned on by him putting clothes on?
Shit.
Clearing his throat roughly seems to jolt her out of whatever trance she’d just been in and she blinks dazedly at him.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” he says, suddenly super excited about getting the fuck out of this room even if what awaits them is perhaps the stupidest tradition the twenty-first century has managed to create.
They’re about halfway to Santa Monica when she drops a bomb.
“I think I’m going to buy a house.”
“What?”
“With the money my parents gave me and then with the job offer, it’s a decent down payment on something small, or maybe a condo.”
“That’s . . . that’s . . .” Permanent, putting down roots, she’s staying in LA and there’s nothing he can do to change that. She’s got a life here, obviously, her friends and family and now a career, and she’s going to stay and he’s going to go. “That’s great, boss.”
“Yeah, it feels like the right thing to do, you know? And I should probably apologize to them for walking out like that, I just . . .”
“You were angry. You had a right to be angry, but I think . . . maybe after I’m gone, if you just talked to them about it, they’d understand.”
“Maybe. It’s just so surreal. I figured I’d just be stuck for a minute, you know? But now, it feels like, I don’t know, like there are a million possibilities.”
The exact opposite of how he feels about it. It’s like a death knell for whatever semblance of a future he might have fantasized for them. She’s staying, he’s going and that’s always been true, even before she got that job.
“Any idea where?”
“Maybe Silver Lake, sort of nearish to Lexi. Or that neighborhood near Runyon. Miranda and Sarah lived up there until they bought their place in Pasadena.”
“That’d be cool. You could hike every morning.”
“I could. Or I could make everyone mad and move to Culver City or Mar Vista.”
“Guaranteed privacy, though. No one is gonna want to make that drive ever. Or you could embrace your inner surfer girl and buy in Santa Monica or Venice.”
“Ocean Park is kind of cool, actually, and I might be able to afford it,” she muses.
“How much time did you spend scrolling Zillow last night?”
Groaning, she grins at him from the passenger seat. “Too long. It’s disgusting how much money one-bedroom condos cost in this city.”
He hums his agreement. “Just one bedroom?”
“Well, it’s just me and Amelia, you know? I don’t need that much space.”
“Right,” he says, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “What were you going to do if they hadn’t given you the money?”
