Page 59 of Spark

“You said you don’t get insomnia when you’re home.”

“I did? Well, I mean, normally that’s true. But with that damned quarterback out there, who knows?”

“Okay, well, if you need some sleep therapy from me, you’ll know where to find me. But we should still set up the air mattress.”

We argue about it, until finally Kendrick says, “Atleast set the damned thing up next to my bed. That’s the only place with enough space for it. My other two bedrooms are filled with workout gear and recording equipment.”

“I really don’t want to invade your privacy.”

“It’ll be fun—like old times.”

I return his wistful smile. “I always loved our little slumber parties.”

“Me, too. Those were some really happy times for me.”

“Minus the part where you had crippling depression about your lifelong dreams being crushed.”

Kendrick snorts. “Yeah, that part sucked. But the rest was awesome.”

We share a chuckle.

“So, it’s settled, then?” he asks. “You’ll set up camp in my room?”

“If you insist.” I bat my eyelashes. “Now, would you be my hero and carry my air mattress into your bedroom for me? I think the box will be too heavy for me to pick up.”

“Oh my gosh, Kendrick. More tulips?”

We’re in his bedroom now. He’s putting down the large box containing my new air mattress, while I roll my suitcase into the room behind him—and, immediately, I’m flabbergasted by yet another, even bigger, bouquet of gorgeous, orange blooms. This one on his dresser.

“I just wanted you to feel at home,” he says casually. Is he blushing?

“Well, in that case, maybe you should have messed up the place a bit. You’re much neater than I’ll ever be.”

I’m expecting Kendrick to chuckle, but he doesn’t. He actually seems a bit stiff and nervous. He clears his throat and gestures to my suitcase. “I cleared out the top two drawers ofmy dresser for you.” Next, he motions to a walk-in closet. “And there’s half a rack in there for you, too.”

“That’s more than enough room. Thank you. I didn’t bring much, since I’m only staying for a week, and I can do laundry.”

We consider the placement of the air mattress and ultimately decide to set it up alongside Kendrick’s bed to maximize our ability to chat at night, like we used to do in my dorm room. And with that decision made, Kendrick gets to work, while I begin unpacking my suitcase.

It’s Kendrick who finishes his task first.

“I think I’ll get in a quick workout,” he says. “While you finish unpacking and getting settled. Cool?”

“Of course. And there’s no need to make it quick. Live your life, babe, like I’m not even here.”

“Well, what would be the point in that, when I’m so excited you’re here?” There’s that blush again. “I normally work out shirtless, by the way. I get super sweaty, so that cuts down on laundry. Okay with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve seen you shirtless a million times, KC.”

“I know, I just want you feeling comfortable in close quarters with me.” Without further ado, he slowly peels off his T-shirt, and, suddenly, at the sight of Kendrick’s bare torso mere feet away from me, I don’t feel quite as nonchalant about his half-nakedness, as I claimed a moment ago. Indeed, standing here now, I’m feeling the unmistakable sensation of physical arousal at the sight of him. What’s wrong with me?

I wrench my eyes off Kendrick’s smooth, bare muscles and take a deep breath, feeling deeply annoyed with myself. I’ve been to countless hotel pools with this man. Sat in countless hot tubs and on sandy beaches around the world with him, too. He’s shuffled past me, shirtless, on tour buses, on his way to the bathroom or the fridge in the back. And not once, on any of those occasions, did my body react to Kendrick’s bodythe way it’s reacting now. Is it that drunken kiss I can barely remember that’s wreaking havoc with me? I don’t consciously remember the details of it, true, but perhaps my subconscious remembers it all too well—and now, it’s goading me on to do it again . . . .

“Let me know if you need anything, cutie.”

“Do your thing, hot stuff.” My chest tightens. With his shirt off, while standing in his bedroom mere feet away from me, right next to his bed, and with that big palm of his is resting on his cut abs, which draws my attention to them, everything feels heated and charged. Indeed, I’m feeling weird tingles I shouldn’t be feeling.

“Okay, well,” Kendrick says. “Lemme know if you need anything.” With that, he strides out of the room, leaving me to gawk at his graceful, muscular backside in motion as he goes—which, damn it, then provokes fleeting visions of that very same backside in a different kind of motion. Namely, gyrating on top of a blonde on a couch.

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