Page 83 of Bad Run

“It’s a gym.”

“Of course it is. You had time to turn the pool house into a gym, but not furnish the bedrooms. What do you do when your family visits?”

He looks at the ground and shoves his hands into his pockets. “They don’t.”

His admission takes the wind out of my sails. I knew his relationship with his family was strained, but for them not to visit is terrible.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“It’s fine.”

Our gazes meet, and a calming silence stretches between us as we stare at one another. Each of us deep in our own thoughts.

“I guess I should go home.”

“Or you can stay.” He takes a small step forward.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” Lance takes another step. “Are you too scared to share the same bed? Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

Maybe.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoff.

“Prove it. Stay the night. I promise I won’t touch you. We can eat dinner, watch one of your shows, and sleep,” he says casually.

Is sharing a bed really no big deal to him?

This can’t happen. It has “bad idea” written all over it. I don’t think I’ve recovered from the last time we shared a bed.

That wasn’t sharing a bed. That was sex. Mind-bending sex that ruined your hootie-hoo for all other men.

My thighs quiver at the memory. Geez, brain, way to kick a girl when she’s down.

Lance stares at me, waiting for my answer.

Think, brain!

Sex, sex, sex.

Like my dirty, ho-bag brain, my clit is no help. The needy bundle of nerves pulses at the apex of my thighs, begging for friction.

“You don’t have a TV,” I blurt and point at the gorgeous built-in cabinets covering the wall facing the foot of the bed, where a rectangle of space sits empty.

I can’t believe that’s the reason I’m using to leave.

“Wrong.” Lance walks past me to the bedside table, opens the drawer, pulls out a remote, and taps a button. A second later, the biggest television I’ve ever seen slowly rises from the cabinet, filling the space on the wall.

“You bought a TV, but didn’t buy a bed?” I gawk. The thing must be at least sixty inches.

“I bought the TV a while ago,” he admits.

For the first time, I see a hint of vulnerability in his blue depths. Was he thinking about me?

Don’t go there. I push the thought away and glance between Lance, the bed, and the TV.

“Stay with me, Gwen. At least for tonight,” he pleads. There’s no hint of teasing in his voice, just truth.