Page 37 of We Met Like This
I snorted out a breath. “It’s stress relief!”
“Oh, your response was yes.”
I smiled. “Mostly I read for stress relief, but those videos are mindless and kind of great and if you haven’t watched any, I don’t want to hear it.”
His laugh was low and settled in my belly. My hand trailed a slow path along the strip of exposed skin between my silky pajama shorts and tank top. Back and forth. My eyes fluttered closed as every nerve ending in my body hummed to life. Whyhadn’twe revisited our physical connection before? Because I’d walked away frustrated that first night?
“What doyoudo to relax?” I asked, my voice huskier than I intended.
“You okay?” he returned.
“Just…”Imagining your hands on me, that’s all. “Where are you?”
“Where am I?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“In my bedroom. You?”
“Same. In bed.” God, we’d been good together in that car. How much better would we be in an actual bed. Maybe just one session would get him out of my head for another three years.
He cleared his throat. “Are you tired?”
“Not at all.” Goose bumps formed along the path my hand trailed. “Has anyone ever told you that you should record audiobooks? You have the perfect voice for it.”
“Nobody has ever told me that.”
“I have a book you can practice with.”
“Oh yeah? What kind of book?” Was it possible for his voice to get even sexier with that question?
“The kind where the main characters do really bad things to each other,” I said.
“Like a psychological thriller?” he teased, a smile in his voice.
“There are definitely head games involved.”
He let out a low chuckle. “I would like to read this book. To you.”
Heat poured through my body. I feared the only person getting hot and bothered by this conversation was me. “Okay,” I breathed.
“By the way, I run to relax,” he said, answering my previous question.
I pulled down my tank top and sat up, trying to shake offthe obviously one-sided physical responses happening. “Huge red flag,” I said, parroting his earlier sentiment. “My sister is a run-when-stressed person.”
“Is it a good thing or bad thing to be compared to your sister?”
My sister was a work of art in all ways, in how she dressed, how she kept her house, how she mothered, how she ran her businesses.
“Running is a pretty innocuous thing to have in common with someone. I won’t hold it against you,” I said to Oliver.
He let out a low hum. “Interesting. So it’s a bad thing.”
“What? No. My sister and I are just very different, but I love her. Now, if you have a regimented schedule, like her…”
“Schedules are good for anxiety.”
I laughed. “You totally do! Let’s hear this schedule.”
