Page 62 of A Frosty Flirtation
“Sure you are.” He slings an arm around my shoulders. “This is classic Jordan. Always down to fuck, no matter the hour.”
“Go home, Reed.”
He chuckles, unbothered, and starts down the street. Willow and Drew trail after him while Ginger gets in her car. She reads my message, glances up, and gives a single nod.
By the time she pulls away, I’m walking up my driveway, trying to shake off the irritation Reed left crawling up my spine. I’ll probably never outlive my ladies’ man reputation, but I’mworking on being better. On being the kind of man Ginger deserves.
The porch light glares down on me, highlighting the crooked wreath I swore I wasn’t going to hang. I punch in the garage code, and the door rolls open. A couple of minutes later, headlights sweep over me as Ginger pulls inside. I hit the button to close the door, sealing us in our little bubble.
She steps out, grinning. “I feel like I’m on a spy mission. Should I use a code name or something?”
I grab her overnight bag before she can. “Sure, Agent G Thang.”
She throws her head back and laughs.
“Operation Sneak-In is officially underway,” I declare.
She wipes happy tears from her eyes. “Do you think we can pull this off without getting caught?”
“That’s doubtful. Reed’s probably looking over here with binoculars as we speak.”
She shakes her head. “No way. Willow would call me the second she suspected something. She’s like a shark smelling blood and going in for the kill. I’ve never been able to keep a secret from her for long.”
I lead her through the front door. She pauses to pull off her boots, sighing as she straightens. Her eyes go wide as she takes in the room. “Oh my God, Jordan. This looks amazing.”
This place barely resembles the fixer-upper I bought five years ago. Back then, it had paneling, ugly carpet, mismatched furniture, and dozens of other things that needed to be updated. Now, hardwood floors gleam beneath the soft glow of recessed lights. The muted gray-blue walls create a calm and lived-in feel in the room. Built-ins flank the fireplace, filled with books, records, and knick-knacks from my grandfather.
“Wow,” she breathes, fingertips brushing the back of the couch. “I thought your kitchen renovation was nice but this…”
I chuckle, a little self-conscious. “Not what you expected?”
“Not at all. I pictured more of a bachelor pad and less coastal comfort. But honestly? It’s just right.” Her gaze drifts to the framed photos on the wall of my dad teaching us how to fish, my grandparents with my brothers and me on the beach, and a picture of my parents with all of us. “These are great. Did you blow them up yourself?”
“Nah, I hired a pro and then had them framed.”
“They’re perfect.”
“Thanks. I’ll put your bag in my room—unless you’d rather stay in the spare bedroom.”
She shakes her head. “I want to sleep with you.”
Blood rushes south. I want to sleep with her too. I’m pretty sure we mean different things when we say that, though.Okay, that’s not helping.
I clear my throat. “Be right back.”
In my room, I drop her bag and drag a hand through my hair. I need to get a grip before I embarrass myself. I’m on edge, like a teenage boy about to touch a tit for the first time.
When I return, she’s examining the shelves.
“Can I get you anything? A drink? A snack?”
She peers over her shoulder, smiling. “I’m good. I already hit my sugar quota for the night.”
“From the sangria or the twenty kinds of Christmas cookies?”
“Both.” She turns around entirely. “But you go ahead if you’re hungry.”
“I’m good too.” I flip the switch for the gas fireplace. Flames instantly come to life.
