Page 103 of The Grumpy Billionaire

ChapterForty-Five

Stella

It’s a week later,snowy November Sunday, and we’re hibernating hard.

I adjust the couch pillows and flop my legs up on Hugo’s lap, completing my perfect nest for our viewing of the next episode of our historical mystery on Hugo’s giant TV.

“Comfy?”

“For now.” I grin and shove more popcorn into my mouth. Hugo points to a stray kernel on the blanket.

I put on a surprised expression.

He raises his brows, because stray kernels of popcorn are always my fault, even when I’m pretty sure they’re not.

“Fine.” I grab the kernel and pop it in my mouth.

Playfully he narrows his eyes. “Gimme that.” He takes the bowl and eats the popcorn and hits play.

We’ve discovered that we both like sleepy historical whodunnits, a genre of show adjacent to my love of the crime drama and Hugo’s fascination with the strange and elaborate ways of historical folk. We’ve been introducing each other to our favorites; tonight we are watching one of Hugo’s go-tos, a World War One-era affair where female codebreakers solve a murder.

And it’s right then, lying there watching the opening sequence with cheeks full of popcorn, that I realize that Hugo and I now have shows.

Fuck.

We have great sex. We do kind things for each other. We talk about our lives. We cook. We’ve discussed birth control and STD tests and determined that we can have condom-less sex.

And we now have shows.

I would apparently suck as a mystery-solving codebreaker, being that this thing has migrated from a no-strings affair to relationship central, and I’m only noticing it now.

He hasn’t been to my place yet—that is pretty much the only relationship thing we haven’t done. What was I thinking? That if he didn’t come over to see where I live, we wouldn’t be dating?

How did this creep up on me?

And what should I do?

The devil on my shoulder says, “Can’t you see that he’s proving himself? Just go with it! You know this is what you want! You love being with him. Seal the deal. Also, don’t forget that you saw some Trader Joe’s peppermint bark in his cupboard.”

The angel on my shoulder says, “Nooooo! Protect your heart! Be vigilant! Smell the cologne! Quickly, quickly! PS: you never saw peppermint bark.”

I lean up, take the bowl from his hand, and suck in a nice big snout-full of Obsidian Valor.

He pauses the show and turns to me. “You just smelled my neck.”

“Huh?”

“You smelled my neck. Are you checking for the cologne?”

“Checking for the cologne?” I snuggle back in. “I knew you were wearing it.”

“So you wanted to smell it.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re eating buttery popcorn, and suddenly you had to smell my cologne.”

I hold out my hand for him to pass back the bowl.

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