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Kissing two different men in one morning?
How did I go from zero men in my life, zero dates, zero prospects for a husband, and most importantly, zero kisses to kissing Alex and Gabe on the same day?
I wasn’t thinking.
I was feeling.
Living.
Experiencing the excitement that two opposites bring to the table.
I want more.
This feels crazy but also right. So I mop up the coffee and try to rein in my lust. No one’s breaking any laws.
Tell that to my heart.
It’s beating like a terrified bunny in my chest.
Standing, I glance at Alex. He’s got his hands on his hips. Fresh from the shower, his dark hair is finger-combed and still damp. So sexy. Inky dark jeans cling to his legs in all the right places. And a midnight black polo hugs his muscular torso.
My stomach does a backflip, and I melt from the inside out.
I rinse the rag in the sink, return to the window, and wipe up the sticky mess. The coffee. Not me. Although, yeah. When I push to my feet again, they’re still staring at each other. Like they’re having an entire conversation without words.
The tension is back. Thicker than ever. And gracious, I want to know what they’re thinking.
Has Alex figured it out?
I wouldn’t be surprised. Mr. Watchful.
“So. . .”
There’s a long beat of silence, and then they glance over at me.
“What’s the plan?”
With any luck, my phone will be dead, and I won’t have to deal with all the messages waiting for me. On the other hand, I owe LaShonda a call. She’s probably worried.
And as much as I’d like to hide out here for a week and not deal with whatever the hell is happening out there, I can’t stay in this house much longer. Standing this close to them makes my skin sizzle with awareness. My breasts are heavy, and my nipples are aching little peaks.
They turned me on just by walking down the hall last night, and I’m not entirely sure I’ve recovered.
“Right. Well, I need to take a shower and then get in touch with the interior designer,” Gabe says.
“Soap’s in the shower,” Alex offers. He narrows his gaze on his friend and I swear he smirks. “Clothes are in the duffle.”
“Thanks.” The word is dry and humorless.
What is going on between the two of them? I can’t have them fighting because of me. This isn’t a rom-com set in Alabama.
Gabe strides off, and my stomach ties itself in a giant knot.
I hate the uneasiness.
“There are clothes for you, too,” Alex murmurs, taking the rag from me. He moves to the sink, rinses, then rings it out.
“Thanks.”
