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She hesitates, seeming to weigh up my offer as she nibbles on the corner of her lips. “I don’t want to take advantage of you, Drew. Your injury and all.”
I toss my head back and laugh. “Honey, you’re not taking advantage of me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Your goose egg, I mean.”
Like I’d let that stop me. “Want to check it?”
“Yes.” Gently, she pushes the ice pack aside, brushing her palm over my head again. Her touch is reassuring. Caring. But also, arousing. She runs her long fingers over my head, and I’m picturing her hands tightening in my hair as I spread her legs and taste her.
Like maybe in the next fifteen minutes.
“What’s the report?” I ask.
“I think your goose egg is history, Drew,” she says.
That is excellent news. I lift my hand and tuck a strand of her soft hair behind her ear, then run my fingers down the strand. “Then, I’m good to go. Are you?”
Her eyes twinkle. “Let’s get out of here.”
3
All the Innuendo
Drew
I silently curse my board shorts. They don’t hide a tent at all. But I’m both a gentleman and a strategist.
“After you,” I say when we rise from the table. As she walks ahead of me, I recite a new passing route in my head. Boom. Five seconds to deflation.
There is nothing to send a dick downward like thoughts of work.
We stop on the street at Carter’s truck, parked at the corner of the boardwalk with my board sticking out of the bed.
Brooke glances at the board, then looks at me. “I’m nearby, but if you’d rather drive, we can do that,” she offers.
“I can handle a short walk.”
“You’re so tough,” she says drily.
“That’s me. Hardy. Able to withstand short walks from the beach on a beautiful day,” I say, as I set a hand on the small of her back.
“You’re not going to get a parking ticket, are you?”
I stop and tug her close until she’s only a few inches from me. Sliding my hand through her hair again, I whisper, “If I do…worth it.”
Her cheeks pinken. Then a soft breath flutters past her lips. “Walk faster.”
Ten minutes later, after a few turns here and there in the neighborhood, we reach her home, a cute little white bungalow. The porch teems with potted plants and flowers, as well as pizza coupons and takeout menus stuffed behind the mailbox next to the doorway. She turns to me and says in a professional tone, “Thank you. For the drinks and the speed walking.”
Whoa.With her cool tone, she sounds like she’s done. I might have whiplash.
But then a wicked grin spreads on her bee-stung lips. “Just kidding. I’m not done with you,” she says as she unlocks the door then beckons me in.
“Good. Because I’m not done with you either, but for trying to fake me out I’m going to make sure you get all the innuendo you can handle,” I say in a low, domineering tone.
“Oh. So me being sassy gets me—”
I close the distance and crush her lips with mine. A hard, firm kiss that lasts five seconds. “You were saying?” I ask innocently.
