Page 89 of Playing Mr. Perfect

Sadness moves through me. “You should’ve woken me up to watch it with you.”

“I kept you up late. You needed your sleep so that brilliant brain can function at work this morning.”

I’m touched that he remembered.

His lips find mine as “My Girl” comes on. We dance and kiss and laugh, and he sings every word to me. I feel like his girl, and I like it. When “Last Night” by Morgan Wallen comes on, one of my favorite songs, I have to ask, “What are you listening to that has Motown and country?”

“One of my playlists. My parents love Motown. I grew up watching them dance to it.” He starts singing the country song, about me calling my mom and him calling my bluff and how he wouldn’t trade my love for anything else. It’s just a song, but I get swept up in it, and in him, like I do with everything else he does, and I start singing about how we’re not over yet.

“That’s my girl!” He whoops and spins me around, and my insecurities about my singing fall away. When the song changes, he tugs me against him and runs his finger along the collar of my shirt. “You’re marked again.”

“Mm-hmm. I have an overzealous…” I scramble for the right word. “Friend.”

His brows slant. “Like hell you do. You have an overzealous boyfriend.”

“Aren’t you a little old for that word?” I tease.

“I’ll give you old.” He slaps my butt, then kisses me. We fall into a sexy slow dance. “I don’t care what you call me as long as you know you’re mine and are off-limits to other guys.”

“Then it goes both ways.”

“That’s cool. I’m not into guys.”

I roll my eyes.

“You know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He kisses me again, his hands slipping beneath the back of my shirt. A wolfish grin appears. “You’re naked under here. Are you trying to make me crazy?”

I laugh as he backs me up against the counter. “That was my plan.”

“You wicked thing.” He brushes his scruff along my cheek. “I could get used to mornings like this.”

So could I, but…

That nugget of truth bears a reminder for both of us. “Don’t get too comfortable, Braden. You have time now, but things will change when it’s football season again.”

“Let’s not worry about that. We’ll figure things out as we go.”

“I’m not great at not having a plan,” I say honestly.

“As I recall, not only were you excellent at not having a plan in Paris, but it was your idea.”

“Yes, but that was a one-day fling. This is…something else.”

“Yes, we are.” He kisses my neck, sending tingles down my chest. “Figuring it out as we go is a plan. This is new for both of us. There’s no playbook, and I know it’s not what you’re used to, but neither was having sex in your lobby, and you enjoyed that.”

Boy, did I ever.

“Don’t stress, babe. Let’s just enjoy each other and see where it takes us. Think you can do that?”

“I can try.”

“Good girl.” He kisses me, then turns back to the stove. “Hope you like scrambled eggs.”

“I do. Do you want toast?”

“Sure. How long do you have to work this morning?”

I put the bread in the toaster. “Just a couple of hours.”