Page 16 of Lost in You (Flirting with Forever 1)

Chapter 8

Shawn

“Sure, I guess so.”

You’d think I’d asked her if she wanted to play Go Fish or something, so lackluster was her answer. My gaze wanders over her tense features, and I wonder if I should have kept my mouth sh

ut about the whole bed situation. Sure, I’d be willing to sleep in the bed with her—the thought had come out of nowhere, really—and I couldn’t handle her arguing over which one of us was taking the floor. In the end, I guess it had worked, as she’d immediately accepted the bed when I’d implied her other choice was sharing it, and that she wouldn’t be taking the floor in this lifetime or any other.

The idea of us sharing a bed is suddenly all I can think of. The thought wasn’t even there until we’d gotten up here. When I initially offered to come with her this weekend, I’d always assumed I’d be on the floor or a pull-out sofa or something. But I guess all these thoughts make sense because I’ve been having trouble reminding myself that this is all supposed to be one big fake out. I really need to get my runaway thoughts under control before I do something to make this situation any more difficult.

Madison pulls a long, dark-purple dress and a pair of black heels from her bag and walks over to the closet, where she makes quick work of hanging the dress up and tucking the shoes below. She whirls around, crossing back over to her bag, clearly on a mission. “I’m just going to put some things in the drawers on the left, here, if you want to take the ones on the right?”

I nod. “Sounds good. May as well get comfortable. It’s just you, me, and this teeny-tiny room for the next two nights.”

She freezes in her tracks, her face blanching. “Oh God, Shawn, what have we gotten ourselves into?” She shakes her hands in front of her for a second before letting out a huff and turning back to her bag to finish unpacking. Uh-oh. I guess I shouldn’t have joked about it. But—what else can we do?

“Just laugh. We’re fine. Seriously.” I pick up my bag and dump the entirety of its contents—a couple of T-shirts, some underwear, and socks—into a drawer, slam it shut, and hold my hand out to her. “Ready?”

It’s not until I catch the funny look on her face that I realize her hands are still full of clothing—a couple of sets of lacy bras and panties, to be exact. I see the moment awareness hits her that I’ve seen them. She clutches them to her chest, a fresh wash of color starting at her neck. It’s almost as if I can see it travel from there, past her jawline, and over her cheekbones. My eyes widen, and I point at her lingerie. “Oh,” I rasp. “You aren’t quite done yet, huh?”

“Sorry, I’ve always been a little meticulous with packing and unpacking. I see you aren’t.” She stifles a laugh as she looks to the drawer I’d just put my things in. The material of one of my boxer briefs sticks out at the top.

I run my hands through my hair, pulling on it, gripping it hard. “I’ll just—” I turn a circle in the small room, looking for somewhere to go, but there’s really nowhere but the bed. “I’ll just sit, uh, over here and wait for you.” I ease myself down onto the bed and brace my forearms on my thighs, my stare aimed between my feet. Smooth. Totally smooth, Shawn.

In my peripheral vision, I see her turn to the set of drawers again and slide her pretty little underthings inside. Fuck me. I can’t unsee those. Now I have the mental imagery of what she’d look like wearing those dancing around in my lust-fogged head and I’m not sure there is any way to erase it or stop the sweet torment.

My mind had instantly brimmed with indecent thoughts the moment my eyes landed on the lingerie. She’d held a light-pink lace bra and lacy black panties with a cute little pink bow that matched the bra in one hand, as well as a lacy red-and-hot-pink set with flowers on it in the other. I don’t want to know what she was thinking in that moment because I’m fairly certain I looked like one of those cartoon characters with their eyes bugging out, drool dribbling down my chin.

I blow a weighted sigh from my mouth. When I dare glance Madison’s way again, she’s standing there staring at me with those bold-green eyes. Staggered by her beauty, I look away before want of her cuts off the flow of oxygen to my brain. “Ready?”

“Yep.”

We maneuver through the lobby area of the bed-and-breakfast, successfully dodging all other wedding guests in our escape. I flip on the heater as I accelerate down the road toward the steakhouse we’d passed on our way in. It’s the only other option besides eating at the bed-and-breakfast itself, and I didn’t think it’d be wise to stick around there if we didn’t have to. We’ll have a full day tomorrow of the fake boyfriend/girlfriend thing, and I’d say that’s going to be plenty, based on Madison’s furrowed brow.

Fifteen minutes later, I usher her into the quaint family-run restaurant. There are only a dozen tables, and the place is empty except for an elderly couple who appear to be enjoying their desserts immensely. They wave at us as we come in, which amuses me, but definitely gives me a good vibe, so I wave back. There are several reasons why I like small-town living, and the friendliness of people is high on my list.

The hostess smiles as she watches me help Madison with her coat, and then shrug out of mine. “A table for two, please?”

“Of course.” She gathers menus and cutlery rolled in cloth napkins. She points behind us. “There’s a coat rack, if you’d like. You can follow me when you’re ready.” We shuffle our coats onto the rack and as we turn to follow her, Madison’s hand slides into mine.

When my eyes meet hers, a ghost of a smile passes over her lips, and she murmurs, “Practicing.”

I nod without saying anything. The feel of her small hand in my larger one sends sparks of yearning rushing through me.

A while later, our meals are delivered—a steak and potato for me, chicken fingers and french fries for Madison. This girl cracks me up. “You can have anything on the menu and you get chicken fingers like a little kid. Talk to me about that.”

She stares at me in mock-offense. “Um, excuse me, but chicken fingers are delicious. And even better with a good, sweet, honey mustard and a side of crispy fries.” She takes a big bite, chewing slowly as she gazes at me. She moans softly deep in her throat … and then winks as she slides her tongue over her lower lip to catch some sauce.

Well, damn. A flicker of flames race down my spine. I never knew chicken fingers could be sexy. I shake my head, smiling to myself as I take a bite of my steak. One minute she’s an anxiety-ridden mess, the next she’s actually flirting with me. ‘Practice,’ she’d said. Apparently, my dick didn’t get that last part of the memo because I’m rock hard and suddenly very glad for the tablecloth hiding the bulge in my jeans.

I concentrate on eating for a minute while I try to think of something else to talk about that we hadn’t covered on our earlier road trip.

“So, Chase. Do you still talk to him?”

The color drains from her face, all traces of the pretty pink brought on by her flirting completely gone.

I seriously want to kick myself right in the ass, and I would if I thought I could manage it.

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