Page 73 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

Her breath hitched under my finger and I dropped it away, resting my hand on the other side of her lap, trapping her in my space.

“What I was going to say was,” her eyes held mine as they smiled, “but I’d like to take things slow and just see what happens.”

Slow. She wasn’t going to back away or keep me at a distance. She just wanted to take this slow. And slow I could definitely handle.

“God, I want to kiss you.” I wanted to strip her down and take her right here on this workbench, but since she wasn’t ready for that, I’d settle for a kiss. “Does that scare you?”

She nodded.

“Do you want me to kiss you, Poppy?”

She didn’t move. She just stared into my eyes as our breaths mixed. Then, she made my whole year by giving me the slightest nod.

I closed the inches between us until my nose brushed against hers. I stopped when she tensed, then waited, not moving a muscle. But just as I was about to step away and give her some space, she leaned into my lips with a hesitant brush.

“Cole! Do you want pizza?”

Poppy and I jerked apart, our heads turning toward Mom as she walked through the side door into the garage.

“Fuck,” I muttered at the same time Poppy whimpered.

I stepped out of Poppy’s space and frowned at Mom. She wouldn’t have been able to see us from the side doorway, so I couldn’t get too mad, but damn—kiss blocked by my mother. It felt like the time in high school when she’d caught me making out with my girlfriend in the driveway.

“Oh, Poppy!” Mom said, walking around the old truck. “I didn’t realize you were still here. We’re ordering pizza. Will you stay?”

She smiled. “Sure. Thanks, Mia.”

“Cole and Brad both like meat lovers, but I get the veggie. Is that okay?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay! I’ll call you when it gets here.” Mom winked at me before she turned around and went back out the door.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a few seconds to get my dick under control. He’d gotten the idea that he’d be getting more than just my hand tonight and was jammed against my zipper, ready to come out and play.

Poppy’s fingers were working themselves in tangled circles, her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Sorry.” I held up my hands. “You said slow.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m just . . .”

“Hey.” I stepped back toward the bench, trapping her hands between mine before they flailed. “We’ll go slow until you’re ready to pick up the pace. Just give me the signal when you’re ready.” I let her go and demonstrated my version of her wrist spin thing. “There. Give me that signal.”

She laughed. “Okay.”

I walked down the bench to the mini-fridge and took out another beer. “Want one?”

“Yes, please.”

I opened the bottle and handed it over. Tipping the amber glass to her lips, she took a long swallow. The way her sexy throat moved as she drank wasn’t doing anything to help the problem in my jeans.

She set down her beer and let her eyes wander over the tool bench. They lingered on my gun and badge a few feet away. “Can I, um . . .” She pointed to my gun.

I set down my beer and picked up the Glock, sliding it out of the holster. “Sure. The safety is on and I unloaded it when I got here.”

She held it carefully in her palm. “I don’t know much about handguns. I’ve only ever used a rifle when I did hunter’s safety as a kid. It’s heavy.” Slowly, she wrapped the grip with both hands. “Do you hold it like this?”

I shook my head and repositioned her hands so that one was around the grip and the other under the base to support its weight. “Like that. This gun would be way too big for you without a lot of practice. It’s got a hell of a recoil and it’s made for larger hands. Most of the female officers I know carry a smaller version of this.”