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“Wow.” She laughed, pressing her glass against those lips he loved to kiss so damn much. “So you’re not just a Hamilton, you’re that Hamilton family.”
“You seem more impressed with that than with my direct line to a founding father.” He eyed her. “Interesting.”
“Well, he’s got a knack for racking up points on the board.”
He rolled his eyes. “Among other things.”
“I’d imagine.” She sipped her drink, watching him. “He popular with the girls?”
“Is that an actual question?” he asked drily.
“Is that jealousy I detect?” she shot back right away.
“Hell no. I don’t get jealous.” He rubbed his jaw. “Yes, he’s popular with girls… Something he takes full advantage of.”
“I bet,” she said, chuckling. “Does he wear jeans?”
“All the damn time.” He lifted his glass to her. “He camps, too, with Cole.”
She blinked dramatically. “Well, then, he won’t be racking up this girl, then. I prefer suits, ties, sensible button-up shirts, and four walls around me at all times.” She paused for a second. “Any of your brothers fit that description? Wanna hook a girl up?”
“Ha-ha.” He tapped her on her perfect little nose. “So funny.”
She grinned. “I can’t resist teasing you sometimes. I’m sorry.”
“I know.” He leaned in and kissed her gently. “And I can’t resist kissing you. Sorry.”
She licked her lips, where his had been moments before. It took all of his control not to remove the champagne from her hand and have his way with her. “I think I can handle that if you can handle mine.”
“Deal.” Of course, it wouldn’t be a deal forever, because sooner or later she would be gone, and that didn’t sit well in the bottom of his stomach anymore. “I really did sleep in the Hamilton house, you know. Like I said, we’re believed to be descendants of his.”
At first she just stared at him, but then she let out a small laugh. “A Hamilton and a Jefferson, being friends. What would they have said?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Me, either. But, hey, it works.”
“Yeah.” It worked a little too well, if you asked him. “So you believe me now?”
“I guess so.” She gave him a once-over. “Mr. Eagle Scout.”
He gave her the Scout’s Salute. “Ma’am.”
She snort-laughed.
It was fucking adorable.
“I was a Girl Scout, but I dropped out after Brownies.” She smiled, a far-off look in her eyes. “When they told me I had to go camping, I told my Mom I was never going back.”
He laughed. “And you made fun of me for not being able to rough it?”
“Do you still camp?”
“Hell no,” he said immediately.
She nudged him with her knee. “See? I was right. You’re not the camping type of guy.”
“And you’re not a camping type of girl.”
