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“What?” Her head popped up again. “How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“What if he never does? He’s very stubborn. Male, you know.”
“Yeah, I have some experience with that condition,” Sparks said drily, making her giggle. “Okay, we’ll give him to Christmas. If he doesn’t pull his head out of his ass by then, we attack.”
“Attack sounds so romantic.”
For the first time in her life, that word didn’t make her want to hurl. She figured that had to be progress.
“Oh, it will be. We just need to come up with a plan.”
“I like plans.” She snuggled against his chest, realizing for the first time she’d barely been aware of the fact he was naked and, um, quite well-endowed under his towel. She lifted her head again. “It’s not just about sex!”
“No, honey,” he said patiently, as if she’d fallen and hit her head on a pointy object.
She laughed. “I mean, we were lying here and I was so upset and so focused on Tristan and us and just what it means to, you know, go all in that I didn’t even think about your cock.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good, I guess?”
She laughed again. “Yes, it’s good. So very good.” She buried her face in that comforting crook between his neck and his shoulder. He smelled like her soap. Delicious. “It feels good to love you, Sparks.”
“Again.” He fisted a hand in her hair and drew up her head. “Say it again. Slowly.”
Her lips curved. “I love you, Randy Pruitt.”
His hands came up to frame her face. “I love you, Juliet Reece. Pretty sure I have since January of this year.”
She grinned. “When I ripped y
ou a new one over the fire?”
His expression darkened, and that familiar fear crowded out the joy in her heart. But just for a moment.
“There’s something there,” he said softly, and she nodded.
“I promise, I’ll tell you everything. But with him, okay? Tristan should be there too.”
Sparks nodded and cupping her head, tucked her back against his chest. “With him,” he echoed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“What the fuck, Leigh? I’ve already got twenty-three tables. You think I can pull a fucking twelve course meal out of my ass for an engagement party?”
“Yep.” Leigh, his expeditor, flipped through his iPad. “I’ve got eight people coming in and taking over the back wall. A-lister with a surprise party. Kate’s call.”
“Fuck.” Kate was the manager for The Hollow. She normally didn’t get involved in Tristan’s kitchen, but the holidays in Los Angeles were insane. She would choose a photo-op and social media push over him in a heartbeat.
He shuffled dishes in his head and pulled out his cell. He growled inwardly at the lock screen on his phone. He kept forgetting to change out the picture of him, Rand, and Jules during one of their movie marathons.
Jules had made a fort with every cushion, blanket and pillow in his damn loft for a Scream watch party. They’d ended up restarting the third movie four times. It wasn’t exactly the best of the bunch anyway. Her screams were a helluva lot more entertaining than Gale and Sidney’s in the movie.
He swallowed the quick burn of anger and took three seconds to change the picture to one of the solo sunrises he’d taken last week. Sleeping wasn’t an option for him lately, so he’d been getting his runs in at dawn for the last three weeks.
Today was turning into one of the longest days in history. He opened his notes app and scanned for one of the specialty plans he’d created. Again, no sleep—he’d been creating menus and recipes at three in the morning after working twelve-hour shifts.
He swiped a hand over his beardy face. Maybe tonight he’d actually sleep out of pure exhaustion.
