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“It’s fine. I’m cool with it. Besides, I don’t want you coming home. It’s like you’re living in an actual romance book. As if Tate is the ultimate book boyfriend of every girl’s dreams. He’s that good.”
“He really is that good,” I reassure her, breaking into laughter at the sly look on her face. “I just—I didn’t think he would be this sweet. Or fun. Or... sexy.”
“Sexy? Oh my.” Rachel fans herself. “Scarlett, you never call any guy sexy. Not even Ian.”
Ian. I haven’t thought about him much lately.
I don’t miss him. Not at all. I was chasing after someone who wasn’t interested. It’s nice to have someone chasing me for once.
“I hate to break it to you, but...” Rachel’s voice drifts.
“But what?” I ask, panic hitting me when she still hasn’t finished her sentence.
“I think you’ve hit the jackpot with this one.” Her face is solemn, her eyes wide. “He seems like a winner. You’re a lucky girl.”
I smile to myself, unable to keep my joy contained. Rachel’s right.
I am the luckiest girl in the world.
* * *
I’m dozing on the couch when I finally hear the door that leads from the kitchen to the garage open, indicating that Tate has finally returned. I sit up, pushing the hair out of my face, clad in an old Tate Ramsey Five Car Pileup T-shirt I found on Etsy that just arrived this afternoon. It’s a little faded and completely oversize. The perfect thing to wear to greet Tate when he gets home.
I hear keys hitting the marble counter, and I watch Tate as he sets his wallet there as well, running a hand through his hair, a slow exhale leaving him as he stares unseeingly at the floor for a moment. I take him in, marveling at how handsome he is. How tall and broad and strong.
Oh, I’ve got it so bad for this man.
He glances over at me, frowning when he sees me sitting on the couch, no doubt looking drowsy.
“You waited up for me?” He makes his way to the living room.
“I sort of fell asleep.” I shrug, my T-shirt slipping off one shoulder.
He comes to a stop in front of the couch I’m sitting on, his gaze dropping to my shirt. “What are you wearing?”
I sit up a little straighter, thrusting my chest out. “Do you like it? I found it on Etsy.”
Tate is slowly shaking his head, studying the image on my shirt. “That’s... wild. You look like a fangirl.”
“I was a fangirl.” I’m smiling. “I still am. I’m your biggest fangirl.”
He likes me saying that. So much he reaches for me with a growl, hauling me into his arms with ease, his hands going to my backside, his eyes widening with surprise.
“You’re not wearing panties,” he accuses, though he doesn’t sound too mad about it.
I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, his stubble tickling my lips. “I’m wearing nothing under this shirt, Tate.”
“Scandalous,” he murmurs before he kisses me.
“You think so?”
“Definitely.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
He grins, his smile naughty. I’m throbbing just from the look on his face. “Let me show you.”
Tate carries me into his bedroom—our bedroom now. We’ve given up all pretense of having separate rooms. I just use mine for a closet mostly. I sleep every night in his bed. Though most of the time we’re not doing much sleeping.
