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“Mind blown.” I tell the truth.
The warmth of his grin whips the butterflies in my stomach into a decadent ballet. “You look a little... dazed and confused.” And there’s that smirk he’s missing.
“Dazed and confused doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“Oh, it’s a compliment.” He swoops in to nibble his way across my bottom lip, launching the butterflies into a torrid tango.
When he leans back, I touch his lips, wondering if they’re buzzing like mine.
He nips lightly on the pad of my thumb. “I’m happy to be your dazed-and-confused distraction.” His eyes spark with enough naughtiness to light fireworks inside the butterfly dance hall. “In fact, if you need more distracting, I can probably go all nigh—”
I cover his mouth with my hand, and he licks my palm. Not as grossed out as I should be, I dry my hand on his shirt. “As generous”—and overwhelming—“as that offer is, it doesn’t fix my problem.” A problem that comes bolting back to fizzle the fireworks and banish the butterflies. I grip the fabric of his V-neck.
“What if you at least had the blurb?” he asks. “We can brainstorm ideas.”
“We?”
“No.” He flips on his heavy sarcasm. “I’m gonna make you do it by yourself.” He helps me off the desk.
“I’ve never been awebefore.” Not with Mom. Not with Dad. Not with any of my former friends. Never with a boy.
“Want to know the best part of being awe?” He slips one hand on my waist, the other on my face. “The benefits,” he whispers against my mouth. “Now tell me to keep my hands to myself or nobody’s writing anything tonight.”
“Keep your hands to yourself.” I smile.
“Yeah, that’s probably not gonna happen.” He squeezes my hip, then puts his glasses back on. “But grab your laptop anyway.”
While I pick up my computer, he makes himself at home on my bed. Sort of like he’s made himself at home in my room. In my life. In my heart. Shoes on the floor. Smile wrapped around my soul.
Legs stretched out, he rests against the headboard, and pats the space beside him, his gaze hitting my untouched burger.
“You can have it.” I slide the plate up the rumpled comforter. Crawling next to him, I power up my laptop.
“What are you gonna eat?” He sets the room service menu on my lap.
I hand it back. “No point eating when Vi’s going to kill me anyway.”
“Everybody deserves a last meal.” With a completely serious expression, he rattles off each item the restaurant serves in an outrageous Australian accent.
It’s hard not to laugh. Over the accent, and the fact that he’s obviously memorized the menu. “Doesn’t it get crowded inside your head?”
He shrugs. “When it does, I shove out what’s not important.”
I press on my unhappy stomach. “I promise I’ll eat later.”
“Deal.” He peeks at the only four words in the document I’ve opened on the screen. “Jess’s Sucky Second Book.” He smirks. “I’d want to throw myself into that story too.”
Secret smile destroyed. I huff at him and jerk my computer away. “Feel free to do better.”
“Artists.” He waves off my mini-tantrum with a dramatic eye roll. “So cranky.”
Considering Gabe’s celebrity status, one thing he hasn’t been is temperamental. No, that’s me. I relax my grip on the laptop. “Sorry.”
“I’m used to cranky.” He lifts my burger in a toast. “Artists and women.”
I kick at his leg and scoot to the edge of the bed.
Dropping the food, he reaches for me with both hands and slides me back so we’re touching thigh to thigh. “A book blurb is like an expanded logline, right?”
