Page 98 of Mr. Swoony

My expression doesn’t change. “I would really like it if you didn’t go into that field of work.”

A salmon roll slips off her stomach from her laughter. “That was a sweet way of asking.”

I pick up the piece of sushi. “I’m sweet like that. World’s best boyfriend.” I point at myself before raising the chopsticks to my mouth.

“Boyfriend?”

After I swallow, I bend down and kiss her lips. “Boyfriend. Is that okay?”

The label slipped out, but I want it. I want to be her boyfriend and for her to be my girlfriend. I want us to be a couple. My ego will be bruised if she says no, but I’ll just keep at it until she agrees.

“That’s a little presumptuous.” She shrugs, and another piece of sushi slips off her, but I catch it before it lands.

I hold up the piece of sushi in my chopsticks. “Well, if you don’t want a boyfriend with ninja-like reflexes, then I suppose I’ll have to find someone who wants me.” I’m pretty sure she’s joking, but there are times she has a killer poker face, and I can’t read her.

“I was just clarifying.”

“So, you’re my girlfriend?” I raise my eyebrows.

“As long as you take that last piece of sushi off me so I can sit up.”

“Deal.” I bend over and suck the piece of a tuna roll into my mouth before chewing and swallowing. “Now do you want to eat off me?” I move to shrug off my shorts.

“No, that’s okay. I’m full.” She ate before I asked her if I could eat the remaining pieces off of her. “I feel like I should shower again.”

“Be thankful I didn’t pour soy sauce in your belly button.” I shove all the empty containers in the takeout bag and walk into the kitchen to throw them away.

“That’s never happening,” she calls after me.

I grab the pile of mail off the counter and walk back into the room, tossing it on the bed.

“Speaking of me not being a sushi model, your sister’s been referring me out.”

“Excuse me?” My forehead wrinkles as I climb into bed with her.

She’s put my Falcons T-shirt back on, and seeing my name and number covering her body makes me want to pound my fists to my chest.

“To be a stylist for someone.”

She’s sitting up, sorting through the mail, and I place my hand under my shirt, running my fingertips in a circle. “You have great style. I got schooled about that after you picked your own dress for Jagger’s event.”

“You’ve brought that up a lot. Does it bother you?” She lies down and cuddles into my arms.

“Not in the slightest. But explain to me what a stylist does.”

I run my hand down her arm, and she rests her chin on my chest. “Helps someone with their wardrobe and style choices. I guess essentially, I’m helping them dress for their body type and helping them present themselves to the world the way they want to be seen. Kyleigh has a client who is going on a European honeymoon, and she wants me to pick out the clothes she’ll bring. She’s supposed to message me sometime soon.”

“Do you think you’ll enjoy it?”

We haven’t gotten to the point where I have any idea how much money Eloise has from her trust fund, and I only want to know if she wants to tell me. It’s her business, and even though I want us to be long term, that money is hers and hers alone. If she wants to live off it and never earn a penny doing anything else, that’s her choice. It has no bearing on why I’m with her.

“I think so. I love dressing myself and putting looks together, going out and having the thrill of finding the perfect complement to whatever outfit I have in my head. But I want to do some research to make sure I’m picking looks for a client and not just items I gravitate toward personally. Everyone has their own style, items they’re comfortable in. I can’t think of anything worse than someone wearing something they hate because I told them to. I’ve done it enough over the years.”

I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. “Just that thinking tells me you’re going to do awesome at it.”

She presses her lips to my chest. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I love having her in my arms, all warm and soft. Why did I ever think I didn’t want this?

---