Page 50 of A Little Too Late
AVA
I’ve just finished blow-drying my hair when someone knocks on my door.
Uh-oh.
I send up a small prayer to the universe that my visitor is Raven, Sarah, Callie, Halley, or pretty much anyone on the planet besides Reed Madigan.
No such luck. When I swing open the door, he’s standing there breathing hard, two pizza boxes stacked on one lifted hand. “Delivery,” he pants.
I glare at those pizza boxes and then at my ex. “Nice try, but you can’t go backward in time, Reed.”
“Oh, I know it. This is me trying to move forward for once. Now let me in before the pizza gets cold. I ran here so it would still be warm.”
Still, I hesitate. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I let him into my apartment. Not an hour ago I lip-locked myself to this man and then I…
It’s not easy to hold back my groan of embarrassment. But I manage. Just barely.
“Ava,” he says with a winning smile that isn’t helping. “I was hoping to stay here with you tonight. I just gave away the Vista Suite to my most recent ex.”
“What?” I’m not sure which part of that is the most surprising. Then I notice the suitcase behind him. “You want to stayhere? Room twenty-five is still available.”
He drops the smile, and his eyes turn both begging and heated. My record for saying no to that look is probably even worse than my record against his smile.
I open the door wider. Because thereispizza, and I never ate dinner. I’m only being practical. “I’ll book you another hotel room after we eat,” I say, feeling very pragmatic.
“Good luck with that,” he says, grinning as he steps into my living room. “The snow in the forecast has done some things to your availability rate. Sheila already checked.”
I groan. “Really?”
He just smiles. “I got one with pepperoni for old time’s sake. The other one is BLT.”
“Ooh.” My stomach rumbles, because I love the BLT. It’s a bacon and garlic pizza with a heavy helping of Caesar salad plunked right into the center of the pie. “Take off those wet boots and sit your ass down at the counter. I’ll get some plates and forks.”
“Excellent,” he says, handing off the boxes. He whistles to himself as he tosses his bag down and unlaces his boots.
“You’re presumptuous,” I grumble as I head for my tiny kitchen area. “That hasn’t changed.” He follows me into the kitchen before I’m ready.
And did I mention how small the kitchen is? Reed comes uprightbehind me and wraps his arms around me. I drop the forks on the counter, and I try not to shiver.
“Hey,” he whispers into my ear. “You used to like it when I was presumptuous. You never wanted to make the first move.”
Hell. He isn’t wrong. “I never got over that,” I admit.
“There are things I never got over either,” he whispers. “I want to own that. I think it will help.”
Again, I have to fight off a shiver. I’ve spent a decade feeling like Reed Madigan owed me an apology. But I didn’t ever realize that hearing it would be almost as complicated as his silence. “Helpwho, though?” I spin around in his arms and give him my best laser stare.
But he’s so close to me that I draw in a breath. And that makes things worse, because it means I’ve just inhaled a whiff of frosty night air, chlorine, and Reed’s piney scent.
My laser can hardly function under these conditions.
“We both have some things to overcome,” he says. “Maybe we can move on together.”
“Together,” I repeat. “What does that even mean? Your life is in California. Mine is here.” I take a step to the side and turn back to my meal preparations. “We’ll eat at the counter.” I was going to lay out the food on the coffee table, but I don’t trust myself on the sofa with him.
Reed takes the hint and begins sliding pizza slices onto plates. I get two sodas out of the fridge, and we sit down on my kitchen stools like any two friends sharing a meal.
As if it were that simple.
