Page 56 of Wish I Might
“Okay.”The air fryer dinged.“Want a pig to hold you over until it gets here?”
She laughed.“No, I’m good.”
He watched her go, then pulled his snack out of the air fryer.He put them on a plate, hissing when they burned his fingers, then opened the cupboard for a can of spray cheese.
She must have taken the world’s fastest shower, because she was back before he’d finished the last blanketed pig.
“Are you putting spray cheese on those?”she demanded.
He looked up from his plate and reminded himself not to drool.Her wet hair hung in a braid, her face pink from the heat of her shower and scrubbed clean.She wore a pair of thin cotton pajama pants in green and white stripes that sat loose and low on her hips and a snug tank with skinny straps that matched the green.It was one of those built-in-bra deals—he could see the extra layer of material—and though it effectively covered her breasts, it did nothing to restrain them.Between that and the tantalizing strip of skin exposed between pants and shirt that bared her belly button and the edge of her hip bone, he was glad he was sitting down—and had yet to change out of the jeans he’d worked in.
“Spray cheese is delicious,” he informed her, and squirted a line on his last pig.
“That’s disgusting, Nash,” she said when he popped it into his mouth.
“You eat oysters,” he mumbled and swallowed.“You have no room to talk.”
“You sound like Gwen,” she said, amused, then turned when the doorbell rang.“Huzzah, pizza.”
She spun to the door, braid flying and barely restrained breasts bouncing.Cursing himself for going along so easily with her sex-is-off-the-table edict, he shoved up to take his plate to the sink.He’d washed it, dried it, and was putting it back in the cupboard when she walked in with the pizza.
She put it on the table and lifted the lid, inhaling the fragrant steam that spilled out with undisguised bliss.“Mmm, that smells good.Will you hand me a plate?”
He handed her the one he’d just washed.“Did you get your usual?”
She glanced up.“Yeah.Want a slice?”
He twisted his face into a grimace.“God, no.”
“It’s ham and pineapple, Nash, not belladonna and hemlock.”
Pleased to see the amusement in her eyes—hazel again, she’d ditched the contacts—he added an exaggerated shudder.“It’s revolting.”
“Okay, Spray Cheese.”
He snorted out a laugh and plucked the beer he’d opened to have with his snack off the table.“Want one of these?”
“Yes, please.”
He pivoted to the fridge to get her one.
“Thanks.”She took it, twisted off the cap and took a sip, her eyes on his over the bottle.
“What?”he asked when she’d lowered it.
“Nothing.”She lowered her gaze and picked up her plate.“I’m going to watch some TV while I eat.”
“Okay.”He wanted, almost desperately, to ask if he could join her, but he bit the words back.The next move needed to be hers, at her pace.Reminding himself he was playing the long game, he took a step back.“I'll see you later.”
He’d turned toward his bedroom and taken three steps when she said, “Want to join me?”
He stopped, and was careful to have an expression of mild curiosity on his face when he turned back.“Depends.What are you watching?”
“Heated Rivalry.”
“I think I’ve heard of that.It’s about hockey, right?”
Plate in one hand, beer in the other, she walked into the living room.“Uh-huh, hockey.”
