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He chuckles, and some of the lightness he had when he first called returns to his words. “You’re right again. Good idea. Hey, have I told you lately that I loveyou?”

“Isn’t that a song? Plagiarist.” I laugh.

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’m looking forward to tomorrow night with my two best girls.”

Tomorrow is Wednesday.

“Me too, babe. I’m going to let you go so I can eat my chicken marsala forone.”

Carson groans. “Argh! I love your chicken marsala. Save mesome?”

I snicker. “Forwhen?”

“Tomorrow, when I seeyou.”

“We’re going to dinner with your family, remember?”

“Fuck. You’re right. Well, promise to make it for mesoon?”

I smile and shake my head. “I promise. And hey, I love youtoo.”

“Plagiarist. I said it first,” he goads.

“Kiss my angel baby forme.”

“You know I will. Tomorrow?” His voice takes on that sexy, sultry timbre I adore.

“Tomorrow.”