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“Hey, Princess.” His gaze dipped. “Nice shirt.”
Laurel looked down at the sparkles twinkling on her chest. Of course, she had to be wearing something a grade-schooler would wear. First a princess baseball hat and now a six-year-old girl’s dream attire. He probably thought she shopped in the kiddie section.
His gaze lingered a little too long on her chest, and her nipples hardened from the attention. She quickly crossed her arms over her breasts, both embarrassed and turned on, which was unsettling as bells.
Fudgidy fudge.
“I have to say…” he licked his lips as his gaze dropped lower, “I’ve become a big fan of kittens.”
Was he thinking about her “sex kitten” underwear? Or maybe about taking them off?
Her core tingled when she realized how close she’d actually come to sleeping with him last night. She was lucky Grand had interrupted them, even though she was having a really hard time remembering exactly why that was lucky.
When Jake looked up, there was a mischievous gleam in those translucent blue eyes of his. “Big fan.”
“You should meet Maisie, then,” Britt told him, oblivious to the double entendre. “She’s a love bug.”
“What’re you doing here?” Laurel asked, squeezing her pelvic muscles against the sensations he’d conjured with merely a sweep of his eyes and a few words.
“Eating French toast.” Jake motioned to the plate of cinnamony strawberry goodness on the counter behind him.
“I can see that, but?—”
“Number two,” he said, simply.
“What?”
“Number two,” he repeated. “‘Impromptu road trip.’ I’m kidnapping you. Eat up, so we can get going.”
Britt flashed a way-too-proud-of-herself smile and fanned her hands out on either side of her body, like jazz hands… minus the jazz. “Surprise!”
“Wait, you knew about this?” Laurel asked.
Britt’s smile was so wide, you’d think she’d just won another pageant title.
Jake motioned to the stool next to him. Laurel automatically sat down as Britt pushed a plate of French toast in front of her.
“How did?—?”
“It’s not hard to google the number of a restaurant,” Jake explained, laying a napkin across her lap.
Britt was the only person Laurel knew who owned, and actually still used, cloth napkins.
“He called the restaurant, asked for me, and the rest is history,” Britt said.
“Shedidn’t have any problem giving me her address,” Jake added. “Unlike somebody.”
Laurel rolled her eyes. She’d actually driven herself to Britt’s last night, since they’d gone to Jake’s house in her car. “When did you call her?”
Jake put a fork in Laurel’s hand and gestured toward her plate. After she’d dutifully taken a bite, he said, “Last night.”
“Last might?”she mumbled around a bite of French toast. She put a hand in front of her mouth and tried to enunciate. “Last night?”
Jake moved a glass of milk closer to her plate and motioned to it with his chin.
She gave him a pointed look, but took a drink anyway, since he wouldn’t continue until she had.
“I figured it was perfect timing,” he said once she’d set the glass back down. “I’m off, and you don’t have anywhere to be.”
