Page 33 of Make My Heart Malt

The bed dips as Garrett moves to look over my side. “Huh. I guess last night I was.”

“What’s wrong with you?” I palm his forehead and push him away.

He laughs and rolls to the side. I rise to my feet and walk the few steps to my dresser. I pull open the drawer and find an extra-long t-shirt. Before tugging it over my head, I glance over my shoulder and catch Garrett’s eyes on me. I turn away, mostly to hide the smile that’s taken over my face. “Also, you owe me a jersey.” I grab the now scrap of fabric from the floor and toss it at him.

He catches it mid-air and deposits it back to the floor on the other side of the room. “You thought it would befunny to put that on last night. But you didn’t find it funny when I ripped it off. With how much you moaned my name, I think you forgave me.”

I roll my eyes. “You still owe me a jersey.” I walk to the edge of the bed, and Garrett reaches over and tugs me on top of him.

He rolls us over and shifts the blanket to cover me. Once he’s situated, he drapes his arm over my waist. “I’ll get you a new jersey.” His lips press to the spot right below my ear.

When we were younger, Garrett would also throw his arm around my shoulders while we sat next to each other on the couch. I never thought much about it. It was something we always did. But now, lying in my bed, me half-naked and him fully naked, with his arm around me, hits differently.

“So, about last night… We didn’t…” I curl my fingers into an O with one hand and stick out my pointer finger and poke it through the hole, “last night.”

His eyebrows draw together, a smirk flirts on his lips. “Did we… make hand gestures at each other?”

“No.” I widen my eyes and raise my brows. “Did we…” I motion with my hands again.

He shrugs, feigning ignorance.

I drop my hands to the comforter and huff out a breath. “We didn’t have sex last night.” I pause. “Did we?”

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Do you think we had sex?”

My eyes shift back and forth. I remember the kissing, and the couch, but coming into the bedroom is black. I imagine I’d be a little sore if he’s as big as I remember. My nipples pebble at the thought of my hand wrapped around his thick cock. I shake the thought away. Now is not the time.

“I’m not sure. I’m assuming I would be smarter thanthat. But we consumed a lot of alcohol last night. Anything could have happened.” I drop my head to my hands. “Chances are we did. Dammit.”

He laughs. “Before you give yourself a coronary, I’ll have you know your vagina is safe. We didn’t have sex.”

A wave of relief washes over me.

“Believe me, you’d remember if we had sex.” He sits up, the blanket drapes over his waist as he leans against the headboard. “But you did beg for it.”

I gasp. “No, I didn’t.” Shit. Did I? Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past drunk me. She can be a little slut.

“You did, and I quote, ‘Garrett? I want your baseball bat cock in me.’” He uses his falsetto voice on the last part.

“You’re so full of shit.” I playfully backhand his bicep. “I would not say baseball bat cock.”

“But you did many times. Along with ‘I’m so horny for you. Fuck me with your big dick,’ and ‘I want to play with your baseballs.’”

My cheeks flame red hot. “There’s no way I said all those things. If I did, I’m blaming it on the tequila.”

He leans over, the edge of the blanket shifting lower on his lap exposing his V muscle. His thumb brushes over my cheek. “You’re fucking adorable when you blush, but there’s no need to be shy with me.”

My heart hammers in my chest, waiting to see if he’s going to kiss me. The anticipation builds as I ache for him to kiss me, but instead he pulls away. “I have to get going. I have some rehearsal dinner bullshit to attend.”

He rolls to the edge of the bed and throws off the blanket. His back muscles flex as he rises to his feet. Then there’s his ass. I should look away, but like earlier, I can’t. But when he bends over, I divert my gaze.

“I don’t understand why you have to practice getting married before you get married. You stand in front of apastor and say ‘I do.’” He pulls his boxer briefs over his hips. The elastic waistband slaps against his skin once they’re in place.

“Some people want the day to be perfect. Special.”

“What would you want?” Next, he yanks on his pants.

At least he was smart enough last night to bring his clothes with him to the bedroom so I don’t have to watch him parade across my bedroom—naked—to fetch them. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

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