Page 79 of Just One of the Groomsmen
The cuddling thing? Sign her up.
But a small thought in the back of her mind gnawed at her, making her worry once again that they were setting themselves up for a crash.
“How many relationships have you had that lasted more than two or three months?” She didn’t want to ask it—especially since she was fairly sure she knew the answer. But she needed to remember what was at stake, and what exactly she was up against.
He swallowed and reached for his coffee, and the instant his hand left her leg, she missed it. “Not a lot.”
“Me neither.”
A contemplative crinkle bisected his forehead as he ran a couple of fingers across his jaw. She wanted to take over with her own fingers, forget she’d brought up such a gloomy subject, and go back to kissing.
“I’m not tryin’ to make you feel bad.” She raised her arm to the square. “I’m focusing on the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
He rolled his eyes, but his lips hinted at a smile. “Of all the times I’ve heard that phrase, I think this time is the worst, because I know what you’re getting at.”
“In court, you didn’t know what people were getting at? Nowonderthey fired you.”
This time she got the full smile, along with a pinch to her side, and at least they had this. Teasing. Joking.
She wanted to believe adding sex wouldn’t heap on extra complications, but how could she be that naked and that vulnerable with him without it changing everything?
Even her embarrassing failed attempt at seduction last night left her plenty raw, in spite of reassuring herself he’d been doing the admirable thing and it wasn’t a true rejection.
She glanced at the two large empty pots on either corner of the deck. “Your planters are pathetic. If my grandma hears about this, she’ll be breaking in next. I’ll probably get roped into helping her plant the flowers, too.”
“Someone should definitely call the cops on you two. Total menaces to society.”
She laughed and then lifted his hand so she could see what time it was, but he wasn’t wearing a watch.
He slipped his fingers between hers, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder—clearly, he was much smoother than she. “Any idea what time it is?” she asked.
He jerked his chin toward the table and she spotted his phone, partially hidden behind the mug. The fact that he trusted her with it sent warmth through her.
Then again, it was locked, so all she could see was that it was already nearly ten.
“You said you danced at the club last night,” he said. “Did you dance with any guys?”
So maybe there were shaky trust items on the dating front, and did it make her a weirdo that the gruff way he’d asked sent a shock of heat up her core?
“You’re not kissing other girls; I’m not dancing with other guys. To be clear, I’m not dancing with you, either. No more dancing for me—I’m banning myself, because that’s where I’m a true menace to society.”
“To be clear, no kissing other guys.”
“I’m sure our friends will be relieved to hear you won’t be trying to kiss them.”
He wrapped his arms around her and dragged his whiskered cheek across her neck, and goose bumps covered her skin. “Ha-ha. You know I meant you better not go around kissing other guys.”
“I think you overestimate the opportunity I have for that.”
“Addie,” he growled, and that zip of heat returned.
It was more fun than it should be to leave him hanging for a few seconds—to know she could even elicit that type of reaction from Tucker Crawford.
She twisted in his embrace and touched her lips to his. “The only person I’m kissing for the foreseeable future is you, ’specially since you’re so damn good at it.”
She bracketed his face with her hands and kissed him again—she couldn’t get enough of his lips and his tongue, and how kissing him made her feel like that exciting part of a free fall.
Which happens before you hit the ground and everything hurts.
