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I can only keep half my mind on my own task because I’m waiting to see what she does next. I see her get distracted as if she wishes all of this work was done and she could jump to the fun part. I know I’m focusing on her maturity because there’s a part of me that needs her to not be the typical eighteen-year-old. If she was all giggly and boy crazy and said things like OMG! I could never take her seriously, and there would be no chance of anything between us.
I know I’m looking for something that will make me pump the brakes, but she just keeps on working, her eyes lighting up with every package she opens as if it’s Christmas morning and someone shopped her wish list to the letter.
She’s in sweats and a bulky sweater, her messy hair pinned haphazardly to the top of her head, and there’s just something about the whole package that I find irresistible. She didn’t try to straighten her clothes or fix her hair when I entered, and I highly doubt she did it for Oracle when he was in here earlier either. She’s unapologetically her, and there’s just something insanely sexy about that.
“So, you talked to Oracle about dating?” I ask, trying for casual and somehow managing to sound anything but.
She chuckles. “You just can’t let it go, can you? He said he doesn’t date. Do you date?”
“I said I wanted to take you out.”
“Before me, did you date?”
I shake my head, honesty being my only choice where she’s concerned.
“So you just hookup?”
The screws I’m counting out become very interesting all of a sudden.
“Emmett?”
I look up at her. “I’m not talking to you about sex.”
“We’re going to be dating. It shouldn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I say, lying despite telling myself I wouldn’t.
“If we’re going to date, we need to be able to have these conversations. Isn’t date three the date we get down and dirty?”
I shake my head at the same time my cock thickens in my athletic shorts. Jesus, why didn’t I pull on jeans before coming in here?
“Down and dirty, as you put it, happens when two people are ready,” I correct.
“You’re looking ready.”
I snap my eyes up to hers, wanting to tug that damn lip clamped between her teeth free with my own.
“You need to stop.”
“What if I’m ready before the first date?” she challenges.
My mind doesn’t give a shit that she’s in baggy clothes. My memory is great, and I know exactly what her bare legs look like in a dress. Heat flares inside of me when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, like she suddenly wants to clamp her thighs together. The sacrifices I would make to have my head there when she does.
“You won’t be,” I growl, the words a warning that for some reason I’m also praying she will challenge.
“Have you had one-night stands?”
I take a ragged deep breath.
“What?”
“Have you—”
“Stop. Just don’t,” I interrupt.
She chuckles, but then her face falls. My mind races with the possibilities.
“Have you?”
She swallows. “I didn’t know that’s what it was going to be.”
“I’ll kill him.”
She shakes her head, a derisive sound falling from her perfect lips. “He’s not worth the jail time. Seb isn’t a bad guy. He’s just not mature enough to stick around and have a hard conversation. He told me it was a mistake and scurried away. He probably thinks he was doing me a favor by not having to tell me he wasn’t interested in more with me. It’s likely he thought that he was protecting my feelings for not rejecting me to my face. It took me a really long time to finally accept that everything that happened had more to do with his shortcomings than mine.”
“That explanation makes me want to hurt him even more,” I grumble. “What did you say his last name was?”
She snorts a laugh, and I let her pretend that I wasn’t being serious.
Chapter 21
Devyn
I smile down at the adorable appliqued polar bear Alyssa chose for the matching pajamas, using a pair of angled scissors to snip a few threads. I’m glad every shirt is designed with the same image. It makes it less likely that I’ll make a mistake, considering that I can’t keep my mind on my work.
It’s been a week since I told Emmett about Seb. A week of him stopping by to visit. A week of him keeping his distance regardless of how jealous I interpreted him to be. A week of him watching my mouth when I speak but never getting close enough for us to kiss again.
I’m all for slow burn in a romance novel, but in real life, I want the warmth of his skin against my fingertips. I want his hands tangled in my hair. I want the hardness of every inch of his body pressed to mine.
