Page 62 of Something Borrowed, Something You

He leaned in and brushed his lips with mine. “I’m good at kissing other places, too. Just say the word and I’ll show you.”

I laughed. “Seriously. Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Hunter? You’re handsome, smart, have a great job, own a beautiful house, you’re an amazing kisser, and you can fix a sink and build things. You’re prime boyfriend material.”

His playful look turned serious. He also pulled back a bit, though he didn’t release me from the confines of his arms and the balcony rail.

“I don’t want that type of relationship.” He studied me carefully. “I like you. You’re beautiful and smart. We enjoy each other. But I’m not looking for anything serious.”

Even though he’d been up-front since we met, and I was not looking for a relationship at all, somehow it stung to hear him say that.

“What does that mean, exactly? That I’ll be in your bed one night and someone else the next?”

“Absolutely not. We’d be exclusive. To be clear, that’s a two-way street. My expectation, once you’re in my bed, is that you won’t be fucking anyone else, either.”

“Okay… and we’d spend time together outside of the bedroom, too?”

“Of course. I’ll always make sure you eat before I eat you.”

I squirmed a little at the thought. “So the difference between what we’d be doing and a relationship is…”

Our gazes locked. “Expectations.”

Since we were laying our cards on the table and having a little heart-to-heart, I figured I’d push a bit further. “You said you had one serious relationship that lasted years.”

Hunter nodded. “That’s right.”

“I married my only real serious relationship. That disaster is the primary reason I’ve been avoiding anyone with real relationship potential. I lie to myself and others by saying I don’t want a relationship because I need to focus on my work and Izzy. While that’s partially true, if I’m being honest, it’s also because Garrett burned me pretty bad, and I haven’t fully gotten over it yet.” I paused for a few seconds. “Does your not wanting a relationship have to do with the one serious one you had?”

He looked away, staring over my shoulder and out into the lit-up city before returning his eyes to mine. “Yes, but not in the way you probably think.”

“Did she break your heart?”

“We broke each other’s.” He cleared his throat and took a step back. “How about we go eat?”

“Okay.” I followed Hunter to the kitchen and offered to help. But he’d already done all the prep work for a dinner of chicken and broccoli in pesto bowtie pasta. It was put together in a sauté pan, and all he needed to do was warm it up. He turned the gas cooktop on and filled my wineglass again while I sat on a stool at the island, watching him.

“Do you cook often?” I asked his back while sipping my wine and admiring the way his ass filled out his jeans.

He glanced back and caught me checking him out. Flashing a knowing, cocky half smile he said, “Only when I want to eat.”

“You don’t order in a lot?”

“I like to try to eat healthy when I’m home. I travel a lot, so I have no choice but to eat out a lot. So when I’m home, I attempt to avoid eating crap. Plus, I like to cook. How about you?”

“I cook most nights to feed Izzy a balanced meal. In the mornings, she grabs a bar and runs out the door at six thirty before school and doesn’t get home from sports until almost seven most nights. Dinner is the only chance I have to make sure she gets decent nourishment. Plus…” I smiled. “I like to cook, too.”

“You’re really good with her.”

I sipped my wine. “Thanks. I’m totally bluffing it. I have no idea how to raise a teenager.”

“You’d never know it.”

“My mom always said good parenting was spending half the amount of money you think you should and double the amount of free time you have with your kids. Lucky for Izzy, I’m always broke and have no life.”

Hunter chuckled and turned his attention back to the stove. He lifted the pan off the flame and flicked his wrist a few times to stir dinner before setting it down again. Then he lowered the heat to a simmer and came to lean across the other side of the island from me with his wine in hand.

“So what are your limits?”

I sipped. “My limits?”

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