Page 46 of Kind of a Bad Idea

His grin takes on a wicked lilt. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Not all the calories we burned in bed this morning. Or in the bathroom or the kitchen. Or at the waterfall. At this point, I’m half dead on my feet.”

I laugh, biting my lip as I shift closer, hooking a finger through his belt loop. “Poor thing. Well, don’t worry. If you need an early bedtime with no extracurricular activities beforehand, I understand. Maybe we can read aloud to each other in bed, instead.”

“Fuck that, reading is for nerds,” he says, grabbing me around the waist and tugging me close, making me giggle as he kisses me hard.

Our teeth bump behind our lips, and I instantly decide that kissing Seven while we both laugh is also going on my list of Best Things Ever. Right along with his cock and his hands and his sexy voice in my ear and the way he smiles that new, softer smile that’s just for me.

As he pulls back, gazing down at my face like he’s trying to memorize every inch, I want to tell him that I love him. I want to tell him that I’d gladly take a year with him over a lifetime with anyone else.

I want to tell him that my heart is his, forever, even if he takes Sprout and moves a thousand miles away and never steps foot in Minnesota again.

But this isn’t the time. We still have another entire day in our little paradise made for two. I don’t want to ruin tomorrow by jumping the gun today.

I’ll tell him everything that’s in my heart, but I’ll do it later, when the timing is right.

“Want to grab the buns from inside?” he murmurs, the affection in his voice making my blood buzz way more than a glass of wine ever could. “I can throw them on the grill to toast while the sausages finish up.”

“Sounds good,” I say. “I love a toasted bun.” I slide my hand past the small of his back to grip his delicious backside through his jeans.

He grins and does the same to me. “I prefer mine covered in lace. Those panties you had on last night did things to me, McGuire. I doubt I’m ever going to get the sight of you dropping your towel by the tub out of my head.”

I lift my chin, holding his gaze as I whisper, “Good. Want me to grab the salad while I’m inside, too?”

“Yeah, and the corn chips, please,” he says, giving my ass a final, affectionate squeeze before setting me free. “I’m seriously starved. I don’t think three sausages is going to be enough.”

I laugh as I start across the porch. “You can have one of mine. Two is plenty for me, I promise.” I pause with my hand on the door, sighing as Seven tosses Tater Tot another carrot. “And will you please stop feeding the rodent? I know he’s your buddy, but I’d like to eat without a fur potato circling the table the entire time.”

“You’re a fussy woman,” he teases with a mock shake of his head.

“I am,” I agree. “That’s why I have a pet cactus instead of an actual pet. I enjoy an orderly mealtime with no fur or teeth involved. And Mr. Prickles is always a gentleman.”

Seven shakes his head. “You and that pet cactus. Sprout told me she caught you talking to it the last time she was over at your place. When you were alone and you thought she was in bed, so she knew it wasn’t for her benefit.”

“So?” I ask, propping a hand on my hip. “Mr. Prickles is an excellent listener. And Sprout needs to stop telling tales. What happens at Sleepover Night stays at Sleepover Night. That’s the first rule of Sleepover Night. I mean, I have tales I could tell, too. Like the time she ate an entire container of whipped cream before I got up one morning, and we didn’t have any for our pumpkin pie breakfast. Or the time I let her stay up until one in the morning, even though you said she had to be in bed no later than midnight.”

He grunts. “I bet I can guess which sleepover night that was. Probably the one when she was a nightmare the next day. My daughter is a cranky little girl when she doesn’t get at least eight hours of sleep.”

I bare my teeth in a “mea culpa” grin. “Sorry. We were watching Enchanted and we couldn’t stop before the happily ever after. Sprout told me stopping before the happily ever after is a proven formula for nightmares, and I couldn’t give one of my favorite people nightmares. I’m not a monster.”

The light in his eyes dims, and I instantly know I’ve said the wrong thing. “You’re one of her favorites, too.”

My shoulders creep toward my ears as the tension in the air builds, both of us clearly thinking of how hard this is going to be for the little girl we both love so much. “Listen, Seven, we don’t have to?—”

“Maybe we can figure something out,” he cuts in. “A way for you two to stay close even if we…”

I press my lips together as my throat goes tight. He said “if we,” but his face is saying “when we.”

When we no longer see each other anymore…

Because he’s still determined for this to end Friday morning. He doesn’t seem to be second-guessing that decision at all, and that…hurts.

It really fucking hurts.

It hurts so badly that I can barely force myself to nod and mutter, “Yeah, sure, we’ll figure it out,” before hurling myself through the door into the cabin.

Once inside, I don’t go to the kitchen to grab the buns and salad; I head for the bathroom and close the door, leaning back against it as I press my hands to my face. I pull in deep breaths, willing myself not to cry. I can’t fall apart right now or Seven will bail on our “fuck each other’s brains out for three days” plan before we’ve even made it all the way through day two.

He won’t stay the course if he knows how badly this is hurting me, and I can’t give him an excuse to push me away. Fighting for him—for us—will be a hell of a lot harder if he’s sleeping on the couch and working on the cabinets all day tomorrow instead of spending time with me.

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