Page 31 of When the Walls Come Down
Maybe she wanted to hear about how, in a matter of days, I’d never been more captivated by a man. Or that just thinking about him made me happier than I’d been in years.
Or the lilacs. Maybe I should just start with lilacs.
“Um, hello?” Melanie called. “Don’t leave me hanging.”
“His name is Shane,” I breathed like a lovestruck fool. And, honestly, it wasn’t too far from the truth.
“Who cares what his name is? Details, Mags. Details.”
“He’s thirty-three, about six-one, bu—”
A deep chuckle came from the open doorway. “Technically, I’m six-two.”
My head snapped up so fast it was a wonder it didn’t go flying off my neck.
Shane’s brown eyes locked with mine as he stood half in, half out of my apartment, his shoulder propped on the doorjamb.
At the sight of him, my veins began to hum, and my mouth split into a smile that had long since become involuntary when he was around. It could have been because I now knew what he looked like naked, but my stomach fluttered as I raked my gaze over his jeans, his gray V-neck tee, and a mouthwatering new layer of scruff covering his jaw.
“Mel, I need to go.”
“What? No! You didn’t even tell me anything yet,” she whined.
“I’ll call you later.” I hung up without saying goodbye and set my phone on the counter. “Well, hello there, stranger.”
“I’m not going to lie, Peach. I like hearing you brag about me to your friends. But come on. Don’t short me on inches.”
Carrying my mug of coffee, I walked over to him. “Oh, there is nothing short about your inches, Mr. Warren.”
His whole face lit as I stopped in front of him. “See, normally, I’d agree with you. But then this gorgeous blonde snuck out of my bed this morning without so much as a goodbye kiss. It got me doubting a few things.”
“Her leaving was probably related more to you drooling on her shoulder than anything to do with your inches.” I pressed up onto my toes to kiss the underside of his jaw, but Shane was having none of it.
Hooking his arm around my hips, he tipped his head down and caught my mouth. My coffee sloshed between us as he indecently—and completely welcomed—plundered my mouth.
“You should have woken me up,” he mumbled between kisses.
I nipped at his bottom lip. “You did a lot of good work last night. I thought you deserved a few hours of rest before I accost you again.”
Resting his forehead against mine, he swayed us from side to side. “Mmmm, accost away, Peach. Accost away.”
“I would. Except the movers haven’t brought my bed up yet.”
He let out a disappointed groan, and his arm fell away. “Well, then maybe you should keep your tongue to yourself and have breakfast with me instead.” He stepped into my apartment, revealing a paper cup of coffee in his hand and a plastic takeout bag dangling from his fingers. His gaze flicked between the mug of coffee I already had and the cup he’d brought. “I drank mine on my walk back, but you wanna trade so I can taste some of that Maggie Light specialty brew?”
I shrugged and we did a switcheroo. Smiling, we both took a sip.
That was where the smiling stopped.
Smacking his lips, he accused, “French vanilla creamer? Really?”
Meanwhile, I fought back a gag. “Oh, and yours is so great? What is that? Low-fat milk and a sprinkle of sugar on the rim?”
“Hey now, I’m from Seattle. I get to be the coffee aficionado in this relationsh—” His eyes flared wide, pure foot-in-mouth terror morphing his face. “I mean, I just…feel like, maybe, I have more authority in this department.” He trailed off and cut his gaze over my shoulder.
Gah, he was cute when he was all panic-stricken, fumbling over words. I was well aware it had only been a weekend of fun. Who the hell knew if we’d even be compatible outside of plentiful sarcasm and mind-blowing sex? Though the big R-word didn’t scare me nearly as much as I was learning it did him.
Therefore, if I had any intentions about applying for the position of girlfriend one day in the future, it was my obligation to give him absolute shit about it first.
I cupped a hand to my ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Our relation-what?”
He laughed uncomfortably. “W—what?”
“You said, and I quote”—I made a deep voice as I mocked him—“‘Hey now, I’m from Seattle. I get to be the coffee aficionado in our relationsh—’” I spun two fingers in the air, signaling for him to continue. “Our relation-what?”
He scoffed. “What is it you think I was going to say?”
Okay. He answered my question with a question. I guessed we were playing this game again.
Keeping my voice low and even, I asked, “Do you have a problem with relationships?”
