I shrug my jacket on, not bothering to tell her I doubt my newfound protectiveness toward her is going to get any better. "I'll text later if I'm running late."
She tilts her head, studying me. "You don't have to check in, you know. This isn't..." She waves her hand between us. "We're not actually..."
"I know what we're not." It comes out harsher than I meant it to. "Call it roommate courtesy then."
She nods, something I can't read flashing across her face. "Fine. Go fix your crisis, Beanie Boy."
I pause at the door, looking back at her and there’s that pull between us again that makes me want to say screw the brewery and spend the day figuring out what else makes her cheeks flush like that.
"See you tonight," I say finally.
"Later."
I close the door behind me and groan because why the fuck did this have to happen today? Driving toward the brewery andwhatever disaster is waiting, part of me is already counting the hours until I can come back.
Back to Wren.
I grip the steering wheel harder, finally admitting the truth I've been ignoring since Vegas. Maybe before Vegas, if I'm being honest with myself.
This "temporary arrangement" bullshit? It's going to be anything but simple. Because despite everything—our history, the boundaries we've set, my better judgment—I'm starting to think I might actually like the pink-haired menace who's turned my entire life upside down.
And that's a complication neither of us signed up for.
Pregnancy hormones are a bitch, but they've got nothing on the realization I might actually like Kasen James.
I slather cream cheese on my bagel, standing in Cascade's small kitchen, trying to pretend this morning is just like any other. Except it's not, because last night I woke up at one in the morning with a craving so intense I practically tore Kasen's kitchen apart, and then he—my mortal enemy—drove to the store just to get me caramel ice cream and potato chips.
That I didn’t even eat, and he didn’t get mad or even say anything about it.
And I woke up in his bed. Well, nothisbed. The guest bed. That he made up for me. With actual high-thread-count sheets.
Then he made me breakfast.
Like, what is evenhappeningright now?
And here I am, twelve hours later, still thinking about how his damp hair curled at the back of his neck after his shower and wondering how soft it is.
Oh, and then there were the inked up muscles I got an eyeful of when he walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night without a shirt on.
"Hey," Kieran waves his hand in front of my face, startling me back to reality. Shit, I think I’m drooling. I wipe my finger across my mouth and yup. "Where'd you go? I've been talking to you for like two minutes."
"Sorry." I drop the knife into the sink with a clatter. "Just... thinking about the Henderson account."
Kieran smirks, his eyes knowing. "Uh-huh. That wasn't your business face. That was something else. And considering you've been living with James for two days now..." He lets the implication hang in the air.
My cheeks burn, which is infuriating. Humiliating, too. "Do you want to keep your job? Because speculating about my personal life is a great way to end up unemployed."
"Yeah, right," he scoffs, reaching around me to grab his mug. "You'd be lost without me and we both know it."
Unfortunately, he’s right. Kieran's been with me since the beginning, when Cascade was just a half-baked business plan and a stack of rejection letters from investors who didn't think a girl with maxed out credit cards and no connections in this industry could make it.
"The Miller meeting's in thirty," he reminds me, eyeing my bagel with a raised eyebrow. "That's a lot of carbs for someone who was complaining about her pants feeling tight yesterday."
"I'm pregnant, not fat," I hiss, glancing around to make sure no one else is in earshot. "And your protein shakes give you bad breath.”
“They do not.”
“Oh, yes, they do. After your workouts, the first thing you should do is brush your teeth unless your goal is to repel every woman you talk to.”
