Page 51 of Dear Pink

“That was . . .” she says, trailing off.

“Yeah, it was.” Before I say another word, the doorbell rings.

“Dinner’s here!” She kisses me and rolls out of bed. “I’m starving, aren't you?”

I remember the remaining two condoms. “I have the best idea for dessert,” I say.

She throws on a thin robe and winks. “Can’t wait, Mr. Fancy.”

Chapter 15 - Hannah

After Gabe leaves, I crawl into bed and stare at the ceiling for two hours. I didn’t expect him to stay the night, but we passed out after round three of mind-blowing sex. My insides tingle when I picture him over me, my hands on his hips, drawing him into me. Overwhelming lust for Gabe took over my senses. He knew exactly what to do with his hands, touching all the places to make me fall deeper. He loved my body, kissing the dips of my collarbone and stroking my breasts.

I roll onto my side, getting worked up. I can’t sleep. Maybe I should call and entice him to return? Remembering his whispered words of affection while he worshipped my body sends a fiery flush up my neck. Gabe could become addictive. Hell, I’m already addicted. But like any drug, the side-effects may be dangerous.

Damn it. I should ask him about Elise already. Getting involved with a guy who might have feelings for his ex is a ridiculous idea. I won’t risk losing my heart again to a guy who picks another woman over me. My stomach ties into thick knots of unease. Libby would have demanded answers after the kickball game. I let too much time pass, but each time I’m near him, I forget the question. Maybe I don’t want answers.

I scratch my head. Why would he invite me to his parents for lunch today if he wanted a reunion with Elise?

Gabe, with his sexy v-cut abs and bare chest, asked me to lunch after putting me in a sex coma. I would have said yes to anything. He doesn’t play fair. I flush, remembering the other naughty games he taunted me with last night.

Stop it, Hannah. Your hormones are out of control. I grab my phone from the end table.

I can’t make lunch tonight because I have pinkeye.

Delete.

I have an infected toenail and can’t make it today.

Delete.

I have jock itch so no sit-down meals for me.

Delete. Great. I can’t think of a decent excuse other than a fungal emergency.

I roll out of bed and shuffle over to Homer’s tank. His head pokes out, and he throws me a Homerish smile. I hold him in my hands. “Why am I stuck on Mr. Fancy?” He tucks his head inside his shell.

Is this a signal? Should I hide too?

No more hiding.Libby screams in my ear.

Fine. Geez. Stop yelling.

After I shower, a calm settles over me. Last night was a happy accident, but the sex doesn’t mean we’re a couple. Nothing is resolved regarding his relationship with Elise. I’ll go to lunch with him because I agreed, and I don’t flake on commitments, but under no circumstances will I kiss Gabe or touch his rock-hard body. Even as I say those words, a rush of desire ignites. Whenever I make contact with Gabe’s skin, an electric pulse courses through my body. He attracts me to him like a magnet. A purely platonic, touch-free lunch won’t be easy.

***

The historic neighborhood of Kessler Park consists of lavish mansions among old tree-lined streets. This neighborhood exists in another dimension from mine. Gabe grew up in a fairy tale setting, but I guess to fit a family of nine, you need a castle.

I park on the side of the road when the Google Maps lady says, “You have arrived at your destination.” I stare at a red-brick stucco mansion with Palladian windows and matching white pillars framing a wrap-around porch.

Walking up the brick path, I notice the house hasn’t been renovated since the 1920s. The painted trim peels in the corners, and the pillars are more cream than white. It’s a gorgeous house, made lovelier by the lived-in feeling. At the front door, no elaborate video doorbell greets me, just an old-fashioned button. When I push it, a pleasant melody reverberates through the house. I consider hitting the ringer a second time to hear the bells, but a stampede of feet racing to the door stops me.

It swings open, and two identical olive-skinned, dark-haired beauties stare at me. “You must be Hannah,” they say in unison.

“Um . . .” Are these Gabe’s sisters? They don’t have his coloring. Their amber eyes shine against their deep chestnut hair. They seem my age, but more sophisticated and worldly. With my pink hair, tulle skirt, and ballet flats, I stand out like an unrefined child compared to them.

“For god’s sake, let her in,” Gabe says, opening the door wider. Before I prevent him from touching me, he yanks me into his arms for a kiss. It’s deep and wet and makes my knees tremble. I forget my no-touch rule and kiss him back.

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