Page 13 of Service Included

She didn’t have any more rock questions, and he seemed content to stand near her and…not talk. The smile that flirted around the corners of his mouth combined with the masculine straightness of his lower lip and the lush bow that defined histop one to draw her closer. His expression also hinted at a slight awkwardness, if she had to guess. Then his gaze landed on the bankers box next to her.

Exactly what she wanted to avoid. She pointed to the container labeled costumes in the high corner. “Do you think you could get that bin down for me? The stepladders are already gone.”

Unexpected bonus that he stretched enough to flash a strip of skin above his waistband, not much, and not for longer than an instant, but she was clearly in the take-what-you-can-get phase of single status.

She slid the box of magazines farther down the workbench in time for Nico to plop the tub of costumes in its place.

“What costumes were popular in the late nineties? Power Rangers?”

“For boys, maybe.” She worked her fingers under the edge of the lid. “I think I was Hermione—”

She froze.

The black leather on top wasnota girl wizard’s outfit.

They stared silently into the container. She could distinguish athingon the very top of the stack. She wasn’t going to eventhinkleather panty, so maybe it was called a bikini bottom, but it wasn’t shaped to fit a female bottom, but rather a man’s front.

It had leather fringe.

As if the wearer would dance to make the fringe swing. As if a man who liked to jiggle his car keys had, once upon a time, jiggled other stuff that she would never, ever contemplate.

“Holy shit,” Nico whispered next to her, breaking the spell. “Those mutant ninja turtles really grew up.”

She slammed the lid back on the box. “Didn’t see it. Didn’t see anything.”

He was laughing, and she couldn’t fight joining him. Her shoulders felt like they were moving faster than her heartbeat as it all bubbled up, this incredibly strange day, this sexy guy, hermom, her dad in a nineties leather-bar outfit, and who knows what else was going to happen. But the laughter started fresh every time one of them looked at the other.

“My parents”—he gasped—“have known yours since before I was born.”

“Oh, nooo!”

“Parties.”

“No, don’t even think about it.” Shaking her head and laughing at the same time, she grabbed the block of sticky notes, found the marker that had rolled to the back of the bench, and scribbled “donate.”

He held out his hand for the pen, mischief lighting up his face and his gaze never leaving hers until she let the marker fall into his palm. She froze when he cupped her hand, the one holding the stack of innocent, blue-colored squares, in one of his. She stopped breathing. Like, she knew she had stopped because one moment, she was still slightly laughing, and the next, his warm palm was under her hand and she was completely silent. So she wasn’t breathing anymore.

Then he crossed out the word she’d just written, telling her she wasn’t going to donate the box of costumes.

He started to write a new word. First an M. Then an E. G. Watching him write her name while he cradled her hand felt even more intoxicating than the eye contact had a moment ago.

“Who knows.” He shrugged, and his tanned fingers peeled the square off the pad, then pressed it to the box. He wasn’t touching her anymore, but he could have. She wanted him to.

When their gazes connected, she realized it had been too long since she’d felt brought inside a circle of two by nothing more than the way a man’s mouth curved to smile. “Who knows what?”

“Maybe you’ll want them.”

Not as much as I want you.

His lips parted enough for her to see the white edges of his front teeth. Imagining the feel of those teeth scraping her nipples made her ache to brush her chest against something solid, something like his arm or shoulder. In the pause, his stomach gurgled.

She must have blinked or jumped, because he laughed self-consciously. “Sorry.”

Her gaze automatically followed his gesture as he dropped his hand to his abdomen and rubbed. It was impolite to keep staring at the gap of skin revealed above the band of his jeans, she knew that, but by then, he’d bunched all that soft cotton, and she could see dark hair circling his navel. Disappearing lower, like the fireman story. So yes, she stared.

“Guess I’m hungrier than I knew.” His voice broke her paralysis.

She scanned the workbench for her phone to check the time. It couldn’t be noon already. “What time is it?”

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