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“Don’t mention it.” What I really meant was, please don’t mention the orgasms. I’d do a hundred dog walks to avoid discussing before coffee what a bad idea a repeat would be.
Ambrose frowned as he took a seat at the table. “Well, we probably should talk.”
Damn it. I took a big swallow of my coffee.
“Thought you were the one who said we could compartmentalize? Nothing has to change—I’m still set to play your date when we get to Oregon. We can still be…” I trailed off as I realized how much of an ass I sounded like, complete with a “we can be friends” line. And that might have worked fine with others, but Ambrose deserved better. “Sorry. I suck at mornings after. Last night was…good. More than good. But there are a dozen good reasons why we might want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
“I don’t want to forget it. I liked doing that with you. A lot.” His voice was firm as he stabbed a piece of pineapple from the fruit cup I’d grabbed for him. “I can like what we did without having…expectations. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to shackle you. I just enjoyed it, and dancing around the topic all day sounds miserable.”
“Oh.” I took another sip of coffee. My chest vaguely hurt. What was up with that? Was I legit disappointed he didn’t have expectations? Or embarrassed that he could be far more adult than me? Yeah, that was likely it. “That’s reasonable.”
“See? Not hard.” He smiled and grabbed a croissant from the box.
I nodded, but he was wrong. Acting normally was plenty hard. And my stupid dick liked watching him eat the chocolate croissant way too much. I was half-hard simply from how his tongue licked at stray crumbs on his lips.
“Should we shower before we hit the road, or maybe we should save that for when we get to the resort?” His tone was all casual, but my pained noise was anything but. He rolled his eyes at me. “Separately. I wouldn’t be opposed to the other option, but Hercules tends to get separation anxiety when I shower at home. We don’t want him barking and disturbing other guests.”
“Can’t have that.” I nodded far too enthusiastically, but I’d take the excuse not to give into temptation. “You said the dress code for dinner tonight is a nice shirt, right?”
“Business casual sort of thing, yes.” Ambrose shrugged. Given his love of suits and fancy clothing, I had a feeling we had way different definitions of casual, and no way was I risking embarrassing him. I’d be the best fake boyfriend he’d ever had.
“I’ll shower at the resort then. I’d rather drive in something comfortable.”
“Smart man.” He smiled, saluting me with his coffee, but I felt anything but smart. I was so dumb for thinking we could jerk off together and it wouldn’t mean anything. Because it had. It meant so much more than I could have anticipated. And a smart man would be brainstorming ways to avoid further temptation, not daydreaming about shared showers and secretly hoping the room at the resort also had only one bed.
Chapter Seventeen
Ambrose
“This is a complete disaster.” Cressida greeted Harley and me in typical dramatic big sister fashion. We’d run into a lengthy construction delay on Highway 101 after we crossed into Oregon. The drive from Brookings to the Rainbow Cove resort was a slog that made me regret our leisurely stop at the Redwoods state park to let Hercules get some exercise along an easy trail. And the humans had gotten a walk in too. Getting out of the car had been good. Not that things had been stilted or miserable in the car. Hearing Harley’s stories about life growing up in a larger family and his time in the military was fascinating and made the time pass quickly, and I loved how well he listened to my stories about early shows I’d worked on. But all the same, there was a lot we left unsaid.
I’d been sad but not surprised to wake up alone. That he’d walked my dog and brought me breakfast was a nice bonus and made up for his apparent lack of interest in a repeat of the mutual orgasm fest. Last night had been “good” for him but clearly not as stellar as it had been for me. Or maybe he simply had better self-control.
Whatever. I was tired after hours on the road and thinking about everything I wanted from Harley and likely couldn’t have. We’d arrived at the hotel with barely enough time to set things down in our suite, take lightning-fast showers, and make it to the rehearsal on time. We’d have to sort out sleeping arrangements later, another thought that made me decidedly cranky.
“I’m sure it’s not a disaster.” I tried for my usual patient tone with my sister, but it took me a few deep breaths to get there.
