Page 41 of Text Appeal

He stares down at me with some unnamed emotion in his eyes. Something warm and appreciative. Something that makes me feel seen. Then he reaches out and tucks a soggy strand of blue hair behind my ear. It’s like it’s all happening in slow motion. The gentle touch of his hand and the feel of his skin on mine. Shivers slide down my spine. With no sign of any lurking church officials, it would seem the sweet, tender gesture is just for me.

Unless…is he faking?

There’s been plenty of performative PDA tonight, yet this seems different. Special. We are still on the street and therefore in public. People could be watching. But not much is happening on the sidewalk. With the heavy gray clouds still overhead,everyone’s seeking shelter inside the bars and restaurants. He didn’t do it for anyone who happened to be passing. But he definitely could have done it for the line of familiar faces filling the windows of the Lighthouse Bar and Grill.

Ugh.Fuck him and his handsome face. The same one I would dearly love to sit on. His square jaw and sharp cheekbones are the rocks upon which my hopes are dashed. Which is code for: I got carried away and we’re just friends. Any romantic gestures on his part are bogus and part of our agreement and should not be read into as anything more. The end.

“Do you still want to do the sleepover?” he asks, a smile lingering on his lips. “Or would you like some space?”

I groan and crack my neck. Those muscles must be where I store all my sarcasm, stress, and sexual tension. “It would undo all of our good work if we didn’t.”

“Fuck ’em,” he says, repeating my words from earlier. “What do you want?”

“A dry towel and a bottle of wine with a drinking straw in it.”

“You have one that long?”

“I do actually,” I say. “Guess I wouldn’t be opposed to some company.”

God his smile is dazzling. Just beautiful. “You got it.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

A crash of thunder wakes me. My heart is instantly pounding. Bright light flashes behind the thin bedroom curtains as another boom rocks the building. I don’t mean to shriek. But the loud-ass embarrassing noise escapes me just the same.

“You okay?” asks Connor from down the hall.

Maybe I should have offered to share my bed with him. But after the excessive sexual tension at the bar, putting him and his clever fingers in a different room seemed safest. Especially given the way he seemed unaffected by the sex show. Best not to confuse things between us any more than necessary.

“Yes,” I say. “It just startled me.”

“First coastal storm?”

“That it is.”

Since we’re both awake, I may as well view the show from the front windows. There’s enough ambient light from the street to find my way. No need to turn on the lamp on my bedside table.

The smooth wooden floor is soothing and cool beneath my bare feet as I pad down the hallway and into the living room. A heady scent of flowers fills the room. Connor is supposed to be on the sofa. But instead, the dark shadow of his body is stretched out on the rug. The man is sleeping on the floor.

“That cannot be comfortable.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “The couch was too short. I can spread out down here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He does indeed sound fine. But I need to see for myself. We both wince when I switch on a lamp. Hope my bed hair isn’t too bad. In deference to the platonic overnight guest, my usual panties and an old tee have been replaced by proper pajamas. A plain gray silk shorts and tank set.

Connor is sprawled out in just his jeans. There’s so much skin. Truly it’s a sight to behold. One that is apparently shocking enough for me to blurt out, “You’re half naked.”

He blinks and looks up at me. “Is that a problem?”

“No.”

“You sure you don’t want me to put my shirt on?”

“No,” I say with much vehemence. This statement absolutely deserves his raised brows. “I mean…it’s fine, Connor. I am still half asleep. A shirt isn’t necessary.”

He doesn’t appear convinced. But he does let it go. Half-naked is a good look on him. He has such a nice upper torso. Wide shoulders and defined musculature. Flat brown nipples and a scattering of chest hair. But friends don’t ogle friends.

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