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“I’ll be up soon.” I moved to the couch and plopped down, curling my feet up beside me.

“’Night, Dad,” she called out, heading up the staircase.

“Goodnight, Squirt.”

She scowled at the nickname.

Whitney flipped on a movie while the aroma of buttery popcorn drifted out from the kitchen. Reed returned a few minutes later with a giant yellow bowl, his attention on me before sliding to Whitney.

She waved a hand at him. “I’m still full from dinner. Share with Halley.”

My throat went dry.

I wasn’t hungry either, but I wouldn’t turn down sharing a bowl of popcorn with Reed, even if the salty kernels tasted like heartbreak as they slogged down my throat.

Stiffening, I kept my gaze on the television screen as it glimmered with opening credits to a movie I didn’t catch. Reed hesitated, fisting the bowl in two big hands, before stalking toward me and taking a seat to my left. There was a gap between us, but my body ignited with what felt like another fever the moment he was near.

He extended the bowl to me. “Extra butter.”

I shoved my hand inside, popping a fistful into my mouth as a few pieces slipped through the cracks in my fingers and landed in my cleavage.

His eyes dipped to the space between my breasts and lingered for a single potent second.

Then he popped his chin up and rubbed his shoulder again, eyes darting to the screen.

I plucked the stray pieces out of my tank top and clenched my thighs, inhaling a deep breath as I tried to get comfortable.

Images burst to life, brightening the dark room.

Characters conversed.

A soundtrack played.

I hardly noticed anything but the man beside me. All I could think about was the split-second when his eyes were on my breasts and how his tongue would feel sliding over the swells.

Has he inched closer to me?

Maybe I’d inched closer to him.

Twenty minutes whirled by and soft snores mingled with the television noise. When I glanced across the room at Whitney curled up on the loveseat, I noticed her eyes were closed, both hands tucked between her cheek and the throw pillow.

Reed sighed and massaged his right shoulder.

“You okay?” I asked softly. The bowl of popcorn was discarded, placed on the cushion to his left. He tapped his foot, one knee bobbing up and down. “You keep rubbing your shoulder.”

“I’m fine.”

“Did you get hurt?”

Finally, he looked at me. His handsome face was bathed in television glow as distant images reflected in his eyes. Those eyes lowered to my lips for the swiftest second before lifting, his jaw ticking as our gazes met. “Not sure. Must’ve pulled something with Tara earlier.”

“Let me help.” I scooted closer to him.

“No.” Reed inched away, shaking his head. “I’m good. Not a big deal.”

“Don’t be stubborn. I may be down a hand right now, but it’s an effective hand.”

He glanced at my hand when I held it up and wiggled my fingers.

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