And then I tune it out, focus on the batting of her eyes, the sound of her breath. “I don’t want to sound rude or ungrateful,” I tell her in a low voice so only she can hear, “but I’m not thinking about Miss Loretta. Or potlucks. Or anything else but you.”
Her pupils dilate so big, her eyes go black. “Scottie, you can arrange for everyone else to get back, right?”
Scottie laughs. “I got it. You two go have fun.”
“What are they doing?” Lucas asks.
“Working on our résumés,” I murmur before claiming Kayla’s mouth.
“I don’t think that means what he thinks that means,” Lucas says, but his voice is already fading into nothingness.
“Come on, Mr. O’Shannan,” Kayla says breathlessly. “You’re driving me home.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
KAYLA
I’m not sure whether I like falling asleep in Sean’s arms more or waking up in them. I’m greedy enough to demand both, though.
The sun peeks in through the blinds in our bedroom, and Sean’s arm is slung around me, and even though I kind of need to use the bathroom, I’d rather stay here and cuddle for as long as possible.
So I bask contentedly in the feel of his embrace—my back pressed against his chest as we spoon, taking up less space in bed than should be possible. I smile. I sigh.
And I really have to use the bathroom.
I try to gently slip out from under his arm, but his grip around me is just firm enough that I can’t. I wiggle, and he only tightens his arm around me more. I try lifting his arm, but it won’t budge.
I bump him with my elbow, and he moans in my ear. “What are you doing?”
“I need to use the facilities,” I say delicately.
He makes a grumpy sound of protest. “Just come right back. It’s too early.”
“It’s 6:43 a.m.” I say. We’re both such early risers that this is almost criminally indulgent.
He kisses my head, gives me a squeeze, and then releases me. “Come right back,” he commands.
I grin, slip out of bed wearing one of his t-shirts, and then spin to give him a quick kiss on his cheek before escaping for the bathroom.
Yes, I brush my teeth before rushing back.
The second I slide back under the sheets and into his arms, Sean complains. “You brushed your teeth.”
I laugh. “Obviously.”
“Now I have to brush my teeth.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Letting go of my wife is a bad thing.”
“Letting go of your wife so you can brush your teeth is recommended by ten out of ten dentists. And wives.”
He gives a pained moan and then rolls out of bed. He comes back a minute later with minty fresh breath and a wicked glint in his eye.
I expect him to get into bed, but instead, he throws the covers off me, grabs my ankles and pulls me.
“Ah! What are you doing?” I squeal, laughing.
