Page 45 of Big Dix

“Me, too.” Squeezing him back, his scent envelops me, fresh rain and outdoors and man. Way better than the poop smell. He always smells so good.

“Come on, ladies, let’s get you settled. I’ll bring your bags inside.”

I open up the back seat and trunk, and when he sees all our stuff, he just laughs and shakes his head.

“Heavy packers, I see.”

But Atticus doesn’t hesitate to heft our heaviest items with ease. Once we’ve grabbed all our things, he leads us inside, where an entirely open concept greets us.

Light fills the cavernous space through floor-to-ceiling windows lining the wall that looks out onto a fantastic backyard, complete with a clear blue pool. Roughhewn beams span the width of the high ceilings, and hand-scraped wood floors make this ample space seem cozy and inviting.

“Your house is amazing,” Jen says, surveying her surroundings.

“Thank you. It’s a work in progress.”

Atticus leads us past the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?”

“I think I’m okay for now,thank you.” I got full on my emergency loaf of glove box bread on the drive here. He doesn’t need to know that I keep emergency loaves of bread in my car. And my purse. And my nightstand.

“Me, too,” Jen replies.

“Consider yourselves at home. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen and if you need anything, just let me know. I’m going to make us some dinner later.”

“Thanks,” I mumble because I am just too absorbed in watching his ass while he leads us down a hallway lined with doors.

Atticus pauses to open one. “Jen, this is yours.” He allows us to step in first, then he walks in after us, arms still full.

We all set down our stuff, and Jen and I try to sort through the mess as I take in the sizable posh space. Apparently, the Dixons dobigin all things. I chuckle at my thoughts.

“What’s so funny?” Jen asks, picking out her belongings among the piles.

“Oh, nothing.” I brush it off and help separate Jen’s things from mine.

We leave Jen to unpack, and Atticus helps me carry my stuff to my room. I follow him down the hall, back past the kitchen, and up the set of stairs.

“Oh, is my room upstairs?” I wonder where this big farmhouse McMansion Atticus sleeps.

“I hope I’m not presumptuous, but I thought maybe you’d stay in my room. If you’re not comfortable with that, I’ll be happy to give you another guestroom.”

Oh. Shit. Well, damn.

“Um, no. I’m okay with that.”

He looks at me over his shoulder and smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

A nervous laugh bubbles from my lips. I think we can move past the fact that I’m not virginal, but I have to admit that the thought of sharing the room with Atticus all weekend has my nerves on edge.

We spent the night together recently, but what about morning breath? Eye gunk? Snoring? Oh god, do I snore?

We reach the top of the stairs, and another hallway stretches out in front of us. I follow him down to the door at the very end. He pushes it open, and my jaw hits the floor.

It is magnificent.

Tall tray ceilings, wooden four-poster bed, antique furniture, and rugs make the space feel homey. But it’s decadent, colorful, and opulent.

He takes my bags and sets them down beside the dresser, and I follow suit. The bags are barely out of my hands before he turns me around and takes me into his arms, his chest pressed against my breasts.

“I missed you,” he says before his lips land on mine.

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