Page 56 of In This Moment

Clearing his throat, he rationalized a proper response. “I’m up for anything.”

Which was becoming a literal statement with her so close, laying in a bed beside him, and smelling like sweet honeysuckle. Long legs. Acres of fair, smooth skin. Blonde locks still damp from her shower. Damn, but he didn’t think he’d wanted a woman more in his life. An itch yet to be scratched. Oxygen through his bloodstream. The thunder in his heart.

Anticipation just might kill him.

“Anything, huh?” She smiled, cindering his brain cells. “Dangerous, that.”

She hadn’t the foggiest.

Sighing, he focused on the screen. “Okay, smartass. Action, horror, or comedy. Your choice.”

“I accept all three suggestions. Love a good ghost story, myself.”

Excellent. Maybe she’d get scared and seek…him for protection. She could defend herself, but he was delusional enough to hope.

She hit Play on some haunted house flick, then rose from the bed. Her perfect round backside swiveled as she closed the curtains, then she moved to his side of the bed. His pulse jacked, but she turned off the lamp instead of climbing on him, dashing his fantasies.

Eerie music played during the opening credits, and he retrained his gaze to the screen. Though the sun was nearly set, she’d cast the room in full darkness, adding creepiness to the atmosphere for the flick, but it only served to make the cozy room more intimate.

She reclaimed her spot on the bed beside him and lay down, the dog now on her other side instead of between them. “I’ve not seen this movie, but it looks like it’s scary enough to get my heart going faster than green grass through a goose.”

Unable to help it, he covered his face with his arm and laughed. Dear God, she didn’t drop southernisms often, but when she let ‘em roll, he about died. His side ached. Actually ached.

“You laughing at me?”

“No, ma’am.” He hadn’t necessarily adapted to the ‘yes, ma’am/no, sir’ manners of the south, but the few instances he’d sarcastically done so with her, she’d seemed to like it. As in, flushed cheeks, parted lips, hot-and-bothered kind of liking it. Any weapon at his disposal he’d willingly use. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh huh. Don’t make me bless your heart.”

“Yeah, about that.” He rolled on his side, propping his head in his hand. “Explain to me how the phrase appears to be both an insult and a sentiment.”

She laughed, sultry and rich, then shifted to lay on her side, matching his pose. “It depends on the context. There’s the oh, I genuinely feel sorry for you/that’s terrible kind of bless your heart, which is generally sympathizing for another, then there’s the equivalent of a fuck you version.”

He’d not heard her curse before. It was strangely cute. “Makes zero sense.”

“Unless you’re from the south.”

No kidding. “So, what you’re saying is, I need to read the room and body language to interpret meaning.”

“Precisely.” Her warm smile lit her baby blues as she swept her gaze over his features. “Kiss my grits is an alternate way to say kiss my ass.”

Shaking his head, he grinned wider until his cheeks ached. “I don’t know how you southerners can eat grits. They’re gross.” Made of finely ground hulled corn, they were grainy in texture and had the consistency of cream of wheat with less flavor. Blech.

“Another regional difference. Northerners tend to not like them because they expect the dish to have a lot of taste, but it doesn’t. It’s a tradition in most southern states, especially in low-country, because of the proximity to the sea. Fisherman found it a quick, yet filling breakfast and often added shrimp. Some prefer just butter while others use brown sugar. There’s a thousand ways to cook it. The dish actually originated from Indigenous Native Americans, though. Tribes served it to Colonists.”

“Your mind is fascinating.” He shook his head as his gut heated into a hot ball. Seriously. Brains were sexy. Specifically, hers. “I love these tidbits you throw my way.” Since they’d met, she’d done that very thing. Found ways to logically explain things so he could adapt and understand.

She narrowed her eyes as if suspicious.

“Relax. I’m not pulling your leg.”

She made an uncommitted sound he couldn’t decipher. “I enjoyed learning as a kid. Weird, random facts. Gammy said I was a sponge for meaningless trivia. I don’t realize I lecture sometimes. I think I started doing it in Boston to justify some of our ways when co-workers made fun of us. My ex got annoyed by the habit. Eventually, I quit doing it.”

Which meant she was comfortable enough with him to pick it back up again. Good. She should always be free to act like herself, not some version others expect.

“Well,” he said through a sigh, “I don’t mind. He can kiss your grits.”

Her laugh penetrated his skin and wrapped around bone. “Absolutely.”

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