Page 79 of The Plus Ones

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I find myself swallowing hard and shifting around in my chair and doing some sort of gynecological math in my head… Nope. Numbers and years aren’t making sense to me right now. “I mean. I’d be happy with one. I’d be fine with screwing things up with one kid.”

He nods once. “Yeah. You’ll be good at that.”

“Screwing up a kid?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“We will, I mean.” He twists his lips to the side. “Too much? Too soon?”

He leans across the table and kisses me until I’ve forgotten what the hell he just said.

What did anyone just say?

What are words again?

This man has snuck up on me faster than a coconut full of Caribbean rum cocktail. I am giddy and holding on to this wonderful feeling before the vomit and regret kicks in. Shit, I’m probably going to snore again tonight.

My next question stumbles out of my mouth like a drunk girl from an Uber: “Why did you and Tamara break up?”

He blinks, surprised, and it takes him a second to respond to that one. “She moved to LA, and she didn’t want me to go with her.”

“Yeah, but…I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to…but why didn’t she want you to go with her? You’re great.”

“I don’t know why exactly. She said she wanted to start a new chapter in her life, and she didn’t think she could do it with me.”

“You really loved her.”

“I don’t really want to talk about her with you. Not now, anyway. This is the good part. I don’t want to think about the bad stuff when I’m with you.”

He lifts my hand and presses it to his lips. Of all his kisses, this might be the one that does me in because I can actually see his face while he’s kissing me and he really means it. He means this kiss. I mean something to him, and he means something to me, and the only thing I want to dropkick is my brain because it can barely stay awake and I’m not ready to sleep. I’m not ready for this feeling or this night or this vacation to be over.

I’m not sure if I’m really ready for Keaton yet, but I am definitely here for the good part.

19

Keaton

We didn’t exactly close the bar down last night, but we did return to the cottage to talk on the veranda until after midnight and then fall asleep in each other’s arms on top of the covers, fully clothed. One of us snored and one of us was so tired and happy it didn’t even keep him awake. One of us woke up in the middle of the night and shook the bed, pretending to be terrified of something she said she heard in the bathroom, made the other get up to check, and when he did—because he’s a brave-as-balls stud who would do anything to protect a woman he cares about—she ran outside to the doors between the shower and the veranda and started rattling them. The way a ghost demon would rattle doors.

One of us nearly lost his shit in a badass sexy masculine way, and if the other one ever tells anyone about it, it will be the last obnoxious thing she ever says.

But I think she scared the irrational fear right out of me.

And I had to admit it was really fucking funny once I’d calmed down.

We got back in bed and laughed until we fell asleep again. It was a no-sex night, but I feel closer to her than ever. And now I get to see if she goes one step forward, two steps back. The bathroom door is closed, and I can hear Roxy moving around in there. I reach for my phone on the bedside table, and I’m reminded that it’s February fourteenth. It’s after nine, so when I hear the polite knock at the front door, I get up quickly, knowing it’s probably the flowers I ordered from the concierge right after we got here—and not a ghost demon.

Sure enough, I’m faced with a massive arrangement of exotic local blooms, so big I can barely see the top of the head of the young man who’s holding it. I take the giant vase from him and tell him to wait so I can put it on the bench inside and grab a tip from my wallet. Then he holds out the other thing that I ordered from the concierge after our first night here—a little gift bag filled with nasal strips and ear plugs. Just a little something for my bedmate so she knows I’m not just giving her a generic awesome flower gift for Valentine’s Day.

I go out to the veranda to stretch and breathe in the fresh air and then take a seat on the daybed to look at the pictures the dog hotel sent me last night and respond to a few emails. After a couple of minutes, I realize the veranda doors to the shower are slowly swinging open. My first thought is that Roxy is trying to scare the shit out of me again, and my next thought is—nothing. My mind goes blank, because twenty feet away from me, Roxy is standing in the shower completely naked. She is standing with her back to me, running her hands over herself as water streams down her body, and it is the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen. Until she turns to face me.

She isn’t oiled-up, but she is wet and glistening and stunning, and there aren’t enough flowers in the world to equal this Valentine’s Day gift. Her eyes beckon me to join her, and I somehow manage to stand and walk over to her. I’d call this three steps forward, no steps back. I don’t know how I’m managing to casually stroll toward her as if this isn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I just hope I don’t collapse to the ground before I get to touch her, but I’d die a happy man, nonetheless.

I stop to remove my clothing and shut the doors behind me, because one of us will be screaming out the other’s name very soon, and I want it to be her. I want her. Jesus, I want to do all the things, for and with and to her.

“That’s one helluva body you’ve got there, Carter.” I stare down at her neck and her collarbone and her full breasts and pink nipples.