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Austin’s eyes dart to mine. “Does that mean she told embarrassing stories?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “Although now I definitely want to know what that would entail. She told me about Nico and how you’ve always been around.”
“Of course,” he says quickly. “He’s my buddy.”
I smile, realizing he used the same words that Monica predicted he would.
“I think it’s great,” I say.
“And an education, for sure,” Austin agrees. “I mean, I always knew I wanted kids someday, but I had no idea what the hell it meant up close. But being Nico’s uncle has only made me want to be a dad more. Because you bond with them in the tough moments and become a team. And I’ve gotten to watch him go from this tiny baby to this cool, smart kid with opinions and a sense of humor.”
My ovaries go off like tiny fireworks.
What in the world? How dare Austin Banks look the way he looks, have that level of talent, and also clearly articulate his feelings, including why he wants to be a dad?
I clear my throat, trying to remain in the conversation while my body screams at me to take off my pants—and his. “Yeah, I feel so lucky to be part of Isla’s life. The first time I babysat, I nearly panicked when she wailed for a few minutes. But then when I figured out the problem, and she fell asleep in my arms? Heaven.”
“It only gets better. Hearing them say your name? Oh my God.” Austin presses a hand over his chest like he can hardly stand it. “I was ‘Aussie’ when Nico first started talking. Monica would send me these videos of Nico watching my games, saying, ‘Aussie swing bat.’ It slayed me.”
I smile at him, a bit overcome by the sweetness of it. But Austin, noticing my silence, goes a bit sheepish.
“Did I take it too far?” he asks. “Sorry. We just started seeing each other, and somehow I’m talking about wanting to be a dad? I didn’t mean to make it seem like—”
“No, I know,” I assure him. In a dating scene where men avoid commitments like it’s gym class dodgeball, Austin has just casually made his long-term hopes known. “I like that you’re straightforward. It’s refreshing.”
“I had an ex who cheated,” Austin says slowly. I pause. “It’s fine—really,” he continues. “I dodged a bullet. But, because of that, honesty means a lot to me. I said I don’t like to play games, and I mean it.”
I gulp. There it is again: Guilt. When I try to swallow, it feels like there’s a wad of gum stuck in my throat. “That makes sense,” I manage.
I drain the last of my wine and set the glass down on the coffee table. Take a deep breath. This is it, the whole point of the date: coming clean.
But Austin stands. “You want to finish the tour before dinner?”
“Sure!” I blurt. OK, wrong moment. “Sorry—I got us off track with the couch testing.”
“That’s okay,” he says, and I recognize the caramelly smoothness of his voice. It’s the one that says things in the dark. “The only other stop is the bedroom.”
“What a line, Banks,” I say, teasing him with an eye roll.
“Suit yourself.” His gaze travels to my mouth, hungrily. “No bedroom.”
I gulp again, but this time, the lust is pushing all my guilt aside. Way, way aside.
“Iamreally comfortable,” I admit, leaning back against the pillows. “I could just doze right off.”
“Oh, could you?” His hands skate up my bare legs, and I arch my back immediately—my whole body rising to meet his touch. But he doesn’t stop there. Under my dress, his fingertips reach my hips, tracing the lace of the underwear I chose hoping he’d see it. I nearly whimper with anticipation, willing him to touch me more.
“You’re overdressed,” he says, huskily. “Take it off.”
I catch my breath, as Austin tugs my dress over my head. He releases the clasp on my bra for good measure, and I’m about to reach for his shirt when he nudges me back against the pillows.
I’d normally feel self-conscious about this—the angle and softness of my body in broad, if flattering, daylight. Sometimes the small voice in my mind sounds like my mother’s, harping about the perceived flaws. But honestly? In the moments I can block out those little comments and two solid decades of Photoshopped magazines? I think my body is sexy—full and lush. And Austin makes me feel especially sexy, even in the small things. He showed up to my knit-athon to woo my friends. He took me to Little League. He touched me with absolute, outright lust in Palm Springs. At every turn, he’s made it clear that he wants me.
He stares down the length of my body, draped back and waiting for him. He looks like he’s drinking me in, getting tipsy on the anticipation. My cheeks are flushed, but I don’t shift or cover up.
“My God,” he murmurs, shifting so that he’s over me. “Where do I even start?”
“Anywhere,” I breathe. “Everywhere.”
His mouth lands on mine roughly, and the last bit of willpower snaps between us. I part my lips immediately, stroking my tongue against his. The wine lingers, grapefruit and summer, and I moan as Austin feels his way down my body.
We’ll get to the bedroom later.
