Twenty-Three
Mia
I step into the shade, fanning myself. It’s blazing out here, but the real reason my skin prickles with warmth is from Gavin’s
heated glances, the way his eyes linger on mine before sweeping away, like a stolen touch.
Who is this man, and what has he done with my best friend?
Last night was not at all friendly. It was hot and sexy and more intense than I ever could’ve expected. But then Morris showed
up and Gavin acted so closed off that I wondered if he regretted it. If seeing me in normal Mia mode, hanging out with him
and the guys—er, guy—had him wondering why he’d ever seen me as something more.
Up until a few minutes ago, he’d been quiet and standoffish, which I attributed to Morris’s surprise visit. A visit that turned
out not to be all that unexpected, but I’m used to things like this slipping Gavin’s mind. Half the time he swipes away calendar
notifications without reading them or doesn’t bother to enter stuff in the first place. It’s one of the ways we complement
each other, me with my lists and him with his tendency to take life as it comes.
I doubt Gavin thought Morris coming by to help him stain the pergola warranted a calendar entry. He probably figured he’d be spending his day off working back here anyway and Morris could show up whenever. He’d never have guessed I’d spend the night and wake up in his bed.
My cheeks heat, despite the shade. What’s happening between us is moving way faster than any of my previous relationships.
I met my last boyfriend’s entire family before I even saw his place. And yet I spent the night with Gavin twenty-four hours
after our first kiss. Then again, I haven’t just met his family, I’m close with them. We’ve known each other nearly a decade.
Knowing each other this way, though, is different.
When he raises the beer to his lips, I can’t help but remember the press of those lips on my own skin. When he swipes his
forearm across his brow with a tantalizing flash of biceps, I remember being lifted off my feet, how powerful I felt in surrender
to him.
He catches me staring and the corner of his mouth tilts in a grin that sends heat simmering under my skin. Sometime between
me going in to grab drinks and coming back out, he’s flipped a switch.
“Need a break?” He steps up next to me, sharing the sliver of shade, and I swallow hard, startled by how physical my want
is. I’m used to wanting his attention, his companionship, but this tangible longing is entirely new.
Or is it? My mind flashes back to the early days of our friendship. The sidelong glances I found myself returning. The growing
desire that was half the reason I felt the need to make a pledge to stick to friendship. Why form a pact if there was no danger
of falling for him?
“You could take a breather inside,” he says when I don’t answer right away. An innocent offer, but I remember exactly what
we did inside last night on the couch. His bed.
“No, I’m good. We can finish.” He smiles at my unintentional innuendo and I decide to play along. “Might be better to wait till Morris leaves.”
Hand on the support beam, he leans in, close enough that I have to look up to meet his eyes. “You could always fake a swoon.
It’s superhot out here.” His eyes do a slow sweep of my body and, yeah, it’s a line, but the low tenor of his voice has me
biting my lip.
Morris drops his brush with a clatter, and I realize Gavin and I have just been standing here. Gazing at each other. I move
back out into the sunlight, and when I brush past his shoulder, he turns his head, tracking my movement. It’s hot. I don’t
know how else to say it. He follows me with his eyes, and I feel myself swinging my hips, bending at the waist to pick up
my brush, swiping the excess on the rim of the can. Once, twice.
Is he watching? I peek over my shoulder, and yeah. He’s watching.
I’m surprised at how good it feels. Getting checked out is nothing new. Not like I’m fending off men right and left, but when
we go out, guys buy me drinks, ask for my number. But there’s a different kind of desire in Gavin’s eyes. Like he wants all
of me.
But with Morris here we’re both on our best behavior. If anything, not being able to do what I want to right now—which is
to invite Gavin to the writing nook I made in the shed last night—is making me want him even more. Forget the fact that we
might be headed down a road to ruin. If ruin looks like my best friend in a paint-flecked T-shirt, the sun glinting off his
golden-brown hair and highlighting the sweep of his forearms as he climbs the ladder, then give me a first-class ticket.
The ladder wobbles and Morris glances over at Gavin. “Steady.”
“I got him.” Without thinking, I step over and take hold of the ladder with both hands, my cheek near Gavin’s hip.
He hesitates on the next rung and looks down to check in with me. “Want to switch places?”
“Nah, I’ll let you do the hard part,” I say. Joking with him is easy, until he breaks out in another wide smile. How is it
that I’ve been clueless to how sexy his smiles are? Wide and daring, an invitation.
“Unless you don’t trust me,” I add, grinning up at him. “Would you rather I let Morris take over for me?”
“He wouldn’t rather,” Morris calls from over on the other side of the deck where he’s staining the support beam. Maybe I should
be concerned that he’s onto us, but at the moment there’s not much room in my brain for anything but Gavin.
He dips his brush into the stain, then works it into the corners of the crossbeam. “Thanks for helping out with this,” he
says. “If you’ve got other plans—”
“You know full well I can’t leave until this is finished. It would be like quitting on a power-washing video when they’re
halfway done.” I shudder.
“Can’t have that.” He doesn’t look at me, but I can hear the smile in his tone.
“You joke, but leaving things unfinished is my literal nightmare.”
“Good thing for you—” he brushes the stain on in even strokes “—I always—” the bristles of the brush slide along the wood,
slow and rhythmic “—finish what I start.”
Between the skillful way he works and the innuendo in his words, I’m pretty sure my bosom is heaving like a heroine on a vintage
stepback cover. I’m even more certain that, dangerous or not, I want to keep this thing going with Gavin. We might be headed
for disaster, but I’m too caught up in the bliss of experiencing him this way to worry about the future.
Morris goes inside for a another drink, and I rise on my tiptoes to say, “Are you flirting with me?”
“Mia.” He sets down the paintbrush and gives me another one of those searing looks, eyes brilliant blue. “I’ve been flirting with you all summer.”
“I’m not talking about the trope tests,” I say. “I meant for real.”
“I never had to fake it,” he says. In that moment I realize, neither have I.
Morris left not long after that, and we didn’t waste any time. I showed Gavin my improvised writing spot in the shed, and
he showed me how possible it would be for me to forget we’d left the pergola half finished.
The man kisses like pleasing me is his job. By the time we stumbled back out, what felt like hours later, we were both starving.
Gavin’s pantry wasn’t up to the task, even though I ate all that was left of a package of fudge stripe cookies while he tended
to the cats.
We wound up at our favorite burger spot. We’ve come here countless times, but never while holding hands, with the trail of
kisses he left on my neck a recent memory.
The moment the server leaves with our drink order, I blurt out, “Is this our first date?”
His brows go up. “You’re asking me?”
“Who else would I ask?”
“I’m trying to follow your lead here,” he says.
Sweet of him, but also unhelpful. The server comes back with the lemonade I ordered and Gavin’s water. “On second thought,”
I say, smiling apologetically. “Could I please get a cup of coffee? No cream or sugar.”
He nods and takes our orders, which we rattle off by heart.
“Tired all of a sudden?” Gavin asks, once the waiter has left.
After being up half the night, absolutely. But I also need to be alert for this conversation. “We have a lot to work out,”
I say. “We’re here, like always. But we came together.” I point at him just as he opens his mouth.
“That’s what she sai—”
“Now is not the time, Gavin.”
He rolls his lips together against an errant smile and folds his hands on the table. “What qualifies as a date?”
I should know this. I write fictional dates for a living. “Romantic interest.”
“Check.” No hesitation. His eyes hold mine, clear blue in the afternoon light slanting through the shades.
I swallow, trying to keep my galloping pulse in check. Are we really doing this? “Attraction.” The word comes out surprisingly
steady.
“Check.” Gavin’s voice is pitched low, but I hear him loud and clear.
“A desire to get to know the other person better, in order to determine compatibility.”
“I think we checked that one off years ago.”
We’re compatible, no doubt. Our tastes. How we spend our spare time. Our interests.
Physically, though, that’s new. A flush creeps up my neck. I bite my lip, embarrassed, for the first time in as long as I
can remember, in front of him.
“We can always revisit physical compatibility.” His eyes drop to my lips, and the next time he speaks, his voice is rough.
“If you want.”
“Might have to, in the interest of thoroughness.”
The waiter sets my coffee down, and I lean back, realizing the table has been cutting into my ribs with how far I’d leaned
across in order to get closer to Gavin. The restaurant is nearly empty, midday, and we’re that couple.
Holy crap, did I just call us a couple?
I take a scalding slurp of coffee and let the burn chase away the butterflies. “I’m worried we’re rushing into this.”
“We’ve known each other since college, Mia.”
My hands are shaky, and I don’t understand how he’s so calm about all this. “Don’t you think we should consider the ramifications of taking this step?”