Page 53 of Tangled Kisses
And the scary part? I believe him. No man has ever awakened feelings like this in me.
Figures it happens with one I can’t have.
“You brought me chocolate and a heating pad, which is even better. I’ll save the heating pad for next month, but this bad boy is getting eaten tonight.” I grab the chocolate bar from the bag and glance up at him. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
“Want to watch a movie with me? Hear me whine about the woes of being a woman?”
I swear, those dimples could melt glaciers. “I’d love to.”
Griffin is an excellent pillow.
He’s also exceedingly patient with my grumpy ass, even letting me keep the remote. To thank him, I queue up an action flick, earning a raised brow from the handsome cowboy.
“Car chases and gun fights? Doesn’t seem like your speed.”
I shrug and pop a piece of chocolate into my mouth. “I have a feeling you never get to choose the movie, so I picked something you might like.”
His head tips, his cheek resting on his fist as he watches me. Warmth flickers in his gaze, the kind that makes my stomach dip. “You are going to make the greatest wife.”
I smile, but have to look away before his heady gaze undoes me. “Is that a proposal?”
“Would you say yes?”
“Not if you’re expecting four kids.”
“I thought we agreed on three.”
And just like that, we fall back into the ridiculous game about a future we’ll never have, with a family we’ll never create. But sitting here, cocooned by his warmth, it feels dangerously easy to pretend.
“We’d better get busy then,” I tease, breaking off another square of chocolate and holding it to his lips.
He opens his mouth, teeth grazing my fingers as he takes it. A slow smile follows. “Right now?” He cracks his knuckles like he’s gearing up. “Okay.”
“Hold on, cowboy, I’m out of commission, remember?”
But my treacherous brain whispers: what if I wasn’t? What if this were real, and I let him have me right now?
You can’t, Reese. He fucks women for money. It doesn’t matter how sweet or gorgeous or infuriatingly good he is—he’s a no-go in every sense.
“We don’t want to waste time,” he replies, eyes glinting with mischief. Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“What I meant is that I’m old.”
He narrows his eyes, flexing his hand against his thigh. “You’re not old.”
“I am, actually.”
As if I needed one more reason why Griffin and I can’t work.
“I’m—”
“Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight in a couple of months.” He states it as a fact, not a problem. “We’ll celebrate. Make an event of it.”
I blink. “Wait, how?—”
“And I’m twenty-seven. Just turned a month ago. I think that covers the age difference.”
