Page 10 of The First Kind of Love
Heat blooms in my cheeks, and I’m glad I can’t see the subsequent redness that I assume is rushing beneath the surface. “About that—I’m so sorry. That probably came off as?—”
“Oh, no! Sorry. I didn’t mean it as a bad thing. I thought it was sweet,” she clarifies.
She thought it was sweet?
Some of the tension in my shoulders deflates. “Oh.”
She giggles. “Oh.”
Thankfully, I made the smart decision not to put her on speaker so my teammates could eavesdrop on our conversation, but that hasn’t stopped them from trying. I slip into one of the unoccupied rooms down the hall for a little more privacy, and once I shut the door, I slide my back down the partition.
I exhale a breath of relief, feeling the visceral discomfort in my chest snuff out within seconds. “Is everything okay?”
Her voice quiets just a smidge, belying that sturdy exterior I’ve come to associate with her. “Yeah, everything is fine! I justhad a few questions for you, if you’re open to talking right now?”
I have all the time in the world to talk to you.
A smile claims purchase over my mouth. “Yeah, of course. Ask away.”
“I know you said you were going to cover the expenses, but I really think I should pay my way.”
“I’m inviting you on a trip, Shiloh. I’m not gonna let you spend a penny, okay? It’s really not that expensive.”
She snorts. “Coming from the guy who makes seven figures a year.”
My pulse trips against the thin skin of my wrist. God, this girl gets my heart beating like no close-match game ever has before. “I’m serious. This is my treat.”
There are a few beats of silence, but she eventually changes the subject. “What about the sleeping arrangement? Are we sharing a room?”
I’m not sure how well I tamp down the obvious nerves that flare up among some PG bedroom fantasies, but I practically choke on my own saliva when she springs the question. The hotel said that the suite I booked included two queen-sized beds, but sharing a room could lead to so many treacherous factors. What if…what if I keep her up with my snoring? What if I’m secretly a sleep talker?
“Yeah, if that’s okay with you. There are two queen-sized beds for us to sleep in. Separately.Veryseparately. Far away, even.”
“So you don’t want to sleep in a bednextto me?”
A drop of perspiration dribbles down my temple, my heart badgers unrelentingly against my chest, and some parts of me tingle that should be on a no-tingle basis. “What? No! I didn’t mean…I, uh, I just meant that I respect women. I’d never ask a woman to sleep with me unless she wants to. Which I have experienced before, in case you were wondering.”
“Is that so?” she drawls, which definitelydoesn’thelp with the aforementioned tingles. They’re storming through me, wreaking havoc on my hormones and conjuring up this image of Shiloh in her sleepwear, only a few inches from me.
Wave the white flag! Fess up! Don’t dig yourself a deeper hole.
Considering my brain is the consistency of wet tissue paper, I’m not surprised that I’ve spouted some barefaced lies during this conversation, but Iamsurprised at just how unconvincingly bad I’ve made them out to be.
“Oh, yeah. I love sleeping with women. It really gets the blood going. I do it. All the time. And…a lot.”
Fulton, the only time you’ve touched a pair of boobs was when you accidentally fell into a store cutout of Flo from Progressive.
“I didn’t realize you were such a hot commodity, Cazzarelli.”
She just last named me.Shit.That soundswaytoo good coming out of her mouth.
“Does that mean you’ll accept my invitation?” I ask, desire brimming in my belly.
Her breath hitches, and I’m not sure whether it was deliberate or not.
“I guess we’ll just have to see how far those flirtation skills of yours get you.”
4
