Page 7 of Kiss and Make Love

“Believe me, if I could…” He scrubbed a hand through his curly blond locks.

“You’d what?” she prompted, perking up.

“So many things, Spencer,” he said, shaking his head. “So many things.”

“But you won’t tell me.”

“Nope.”

“Because you’re too good?”

He grunted, shifting himself in his pants again. “Because if I start, I won’t be able to stop. And telling you won’t be enough. I’ll want to show you, and if that happens, all bets are off.”

Wow. She sat in silence, taking it in. Her head swam. Partially from the alcohol but mostly from Mr. Monroe’s confession. She needed to remember tonight. A lot of it would be lost to the black hole of sloppy drunkenness.

“Do you have any roommates?” he asked, breaking the silence while winding his way through the last few streets that led to her tiny starter home.

“Why? You want to come in for a nightcap?”

He sighed. “I don’t want to leave you high and dry tonight if you don’t have anyone to take care of you. Iwould hate to leave you if you’re going to get sick or pass out or something.”

So sweet.

Didn’t she think that already?

“No, it’s just me. I’ll put a garbage can by my bed. Problem solved.” There. A smart and rational comment. At least, it sounded rational. Who knew what was coming out of her mouth right now.

“Are you sure? I could call someone for you.” He looked at her with the most sincere gaze she’d ever seen.

Her forehead wrinkled. “Why?”

“To take care of you,” he stated like it was obvious. “The thought of you passing out and hitting your head, or getting sick with no one to help you, or?—”

“Hey, slow down there, teach. I’ll be okay.” She tried to put a hand on his shoulder but missed and grabbed his pec instead. His very firm pec. Not bad. “That won’t happen. I’m goin’ right to bed. I’m only drunk. Nothing crazy is gonna happen to me once I’m at home.”

He exhaled. Was he trying to calm himself down? So sweet.

Oh, for shit’s sake, she needed to invest in a thesaurus. There were adjectives other than ‘sweet’ that she could use to describe this man.

Kind. Caring. Concerned. Pleasant.Good.

“Alright,” he relented. “But you have my number if anything happens. You’ll use it, yeah?”

“Okay,” she nodded, grinning like she’d gotten away with something.

“And not for texts about my fashion choices,” he smiled.

What was it about this man? He was so different from her, but she couldn’t deny the attraction. No guy had ever made her so dopey inside. Like she couldn’t get her act together around him and instead was mooning about like a lovestruck teenager.

They drove the rest of the way in silence—not awkward, weird silence, either—a comfortable silence. She liked the way it wrapped around them. That could also be the alcohol talking…

Spencer said a silent prayer to the universe that things were going as smoothly as they were in her mind, and she wasn’t actually blabbering incoherently like a sailor lost in a vat of rum.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll walk you to your door,” Mr. Monroe said, exiting the driver’s side. He made his way around and opened her door, held out his hand, and helped her out.

“Thanks,” she managed to say, struck at the small but chivalrous action. Had a man—or woman—ever opened a door for her before? She couldn’t remember. Why was she always dating such losers? Aside from Becca, of course.

At her front door, she fumbled for her keys, her fingers as drunk as her brain.

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