Page 72 of Relationship Goals
I suck in a breath, staggered at everything that’s just vaulted from my mouth into the air between us. “God, I’m dumping on you. Forget it. We don’t have to talk about it.”
He’s quiet for a long minute, and I stare down at the kitten, glad to have something to look at besides the intense man still rubbing soft circles on my arm.
“You want to know what I would do if you were too…tired and feeling sick from beer and cheese fries? What anyone who wasn’t a bastard would do?”
I glance back at him, then away again, because it’s too much. He’sso intense, and I think I might have fucked up by saying any of that, by assuming we were closer than we are—
“I would ask if I could get you a glass of water or a ginger ale, and tell you I had Tums if you wanted one. And then I would ask if you wanted me to take you home so you could sleep in your own bed.”
“Oh.” I bite my lower lip, feeling idiotic for all my internal catastrophizing. “That would be a better alternative.”
“Than your ex-boyfriend?” He tilts his head, and I nod. My eyes prick with tears, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m just tired or if I’m feeling vulnerable for once or because Luke is being so damned…nice. Probably some mix of all of the above.
He’s as gentle with me as he was with the scared kitten, and it makes me feelsafe.
We’ve had straight-up chemistry since I first laid eyes on him. Of course, he acted like a total piece of shit in the LA Aces boardroom, but I chalked it up to him playing a part.
Now that I know him better?
“Were you nervous when you met me?” The question leaves my mouth before I have a chance to think it over, but he just curls a lip, peering at me through his heavy eyebrows.
“Very,” he says, then scratches his jawline with his free hand, his right hand still featherlight stroking my arm. There’s no pressure in the touch, nothing other than the small comfort of it, and that means so much more than the scorching chemistry and silliness that we’ve shared so far.
Luke Wolfe feels right.
“I was nervous, too,” I say, leaning my cheek against his chest. He relaxes back, allowing me to get comfortable, and I loose a breath in contentment.
I don’t remember the last time someone just cuddled me with no expectations. Or, at least, cuddled me and I didn’t feel pressured to do anything else.
“Why were you nervous? You don’t work for those assholes.”
“No.” I huff a laugh, then stifle another yawn. “No, I don’t, but they’re apparently friends with the person I do work for currently, and I wanted to make a good impression. That, unfortunately, is something I rarely do. I tend to annoy everyone at best or, at worst, confuse them by asking about Yo-Yo Ma and their masturbation habits.”
A laugh booms out of him, and the kitten nearly jumps straight up in surprise, only to climb her way to his shoulder, curling up like a furry cinnamon bun in the crook of his neck.
“You look like a pirate.”
“Pretty sure pirates have parrots.”
“Pretty sure cats would make more sense, considering the vermin problem on those wooden ships.”
“You are full of random information.” He shakes his head, but there’s no censure in the comment, and I snuggle against him more fully, draping one leg over his.
If I could curl up on his shoulder like Princess the cat, I would. It looks cozy up there.
“So do you need water? Or a ginger ale?”
“Honestly?” I smile up at him. “I think I just want to stay right here, like this. I think that’s all I need.”
Chapter Nineteen
Abigail
Pain arcs downmy wrist, and I wake up in a panic, completely confused about where I am.
“Shit, shit, hi, shit,” I tell the gray furball currently biting and rabbit-kicking the hell out of my arm. “Why are you doing that? Are you hungry? What iswrong?”
“Abigail?” A sleepy voice says, and it hits me all at once.
