Page 59 of Pucked Up Plans
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
His question tears me out of my salacious thoughts.
“Define okay.”
His thumb tips my chin up, forcing my focus on him. The shower made him even sexier.
“We don’t have much time,” I start, “but all I’m going to think about while I shower is picturing you naked in the same space. It’s going to be so hard.”
At the second unintentional pun of the evening, my eyes betray me and glance down. It’s subtle, but the slightest bulge tents the towel. A heady feeling washes over me, forcing my eyes to close and my arm to reach out and steady myself on Walsh’s chest.
I require five deep breaths to calm myself, to refrain from making a move, any move, toward Walsh.
“Tate, I said I could wait, but if you could make it a little easier for me, my willpower would appreciate it. I’m trying to be a gentleman right now, so if you could help me out and go shower, I promise it will be entirely worth it. No matter how long the wait is.”
I want to say so many things, question everything he’s said. Instead, I obey his request.
Besides, it’s not like I don’t need the space from him.
Not accounting for how much his being in my personal space would truly affect me, I take the world’s quickest shower. He’s not in my room when I return, and I breathe a sigh of relief at being able to dress without him observing. The idea of him seeing me naked again, watching me get into my clothes, is a turn-on, but since we can’t act on any other feelings tonight, it’s best this way. However, it doesn’t stop me from debating for a solid five minutes on what to wear. In the end, I decide on skinny jeans and a long sweater.
Walsh relaxes on my couch, scrolling through his phone. He wears the same clothes he came in—black sweats and an Aspenridge hockey hoodie—but his hair’s still damp. He’s run his fingers through it, and the result causes my heart to skip a beat.
Does this man never not exude sex?
He glances up from his phone while I stand and gape at him. In all fairness, his eyes ogle my body, one scan up and down, a devious simper sprouting on his lips.
“Mom texted. The girls are having tons of fun. She said they’ll probably eat around 6:30 and you’re welcome to join us. She wanted to make sure I specifically extended her invite to you, as if me telling you to eat dinner with us wasn’t enough.”
Too lost in the sight of him, I’m not exactly sure I comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. Somehow my brain gets the memo and my mouth speaks. “I’d like that, thanks.”
He pushes off the couch, using all of his six feet to stand up straight. A man on a mission, he eliminates the gap between us in five strides.
“I want to kiss you right now, one last proper kiss before we have to be parents again.”
“Do it,” I challenge, the butterflies in my abdomen fluttering wildly at the mere thought of our lips touching.
“It’s going to be so unsatisfying.”
The butterflies’ wings halt mid-flap, any excitement I felt in the past few minutes draining out.
He shakes his head. “Oh my god. That’s so wrong. I just meant…”
Sucking in a breath, I wait for him to speak. I thought we had moved past the awkwardness and were on the same page. But now, it’sgoing to be so unsatisfyingto kiss me? Why did he bother even mentioning it?
“I want to kiss you.”
“You’re confusing me,” I mutter with a big exhale, the words rushing out like a geyser.
He inches closer. “I want more than just a kiss goodbye.”
My brows knit together. “This isn’t goodbye. We’re having dinner at your parents’.”
“And then what? When can I see you again?”
My mouth opens, but no words emerge. As previously discussed, I have no idea. But I’m cluing into what he means about the kiss.
