Page 8 of Tickled Pink

“I know.” She exhales hard as she bends down and irons out the lumps with her palms. “But I’m gonna need you to remind me of that again over the weekend. Like, a lot.”

“Every hour on the hour,” I say as I stack the pillows at the top. “I’m your man.”

“Thank you.”

She leans over to flatten the bedspread again while my eyes shamelessly travel her curves. Usually, if I stare at her long enough, her gray eyes will flick in my direction and I’ll flash a wink, making a little blood rush to those cheeks, but she doesn’t look up. She just rolls her palm on the blanket again. And again. And again.

“Uh, Pheebs?” I ask as I sidle closer.

“Hmm?”

“I think it’s good.”

She pauses and slowly stands up. “My freak-out is more obvious than I thought, isn’t it?” she asks.

“A little,” I say.

Her hands lock at her sides. “They’ve never been here before.”

I nod. “I know.”

“We’ve never even had house guests before — besides Jackie, of course.”

“You speak truths.”

“This is our safe place.” Her hands twitch on her lap. “Where we can just be us, you know? So, yeah. I’m freaking out.”

I smile. “You don’t need to.”

“Yeah, but I am.”

She tilts forward to flatten the blanket again, and I sigh.

“Phoebe.”

“What?”

With one quick motion, I take her into my arms and toss her down onto the bed. Phoebe breaks into instant laughter, only to cringe as I follow her down and balance on top of her.

“It’s wrinkled again,” she says.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say before kissing her on the lips.

She goes silent beneath me, relaxing and parting her stiff lips for my tongue. Her chest trembles, rippling as eager and wild as the night when I first touched her.

“Everything,” I whisper, “is going to be fine.”

She smiles. “You think so?”

“Under my watch? You bet your beautiful ass.”

I crush my lips on hers as she laughs. A subtle vibration tickles my thigh and she places a hand on my chest to guide me away.

“Hold that thought,” she says as she reaches into the front pocket of her jeans. She pulls out her phone and swipes the screen. “Going in,” she reads aloud. “Wish me luck.”

“Max?” I ask.

She nods. “He’s up against the beast today.”

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