I laughed and took another drink straight from the bottle. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
He looked at me like I’d lost my damn mind. “I sent you a text. I told you to not come here. This whole disastrous encounter could have been avoided. Do you have any idea how impossible my sister is going to be now?”
I pulled out my phone and checked my messages. “I didn’t get a text from you.”
“Then who the hell did I send it . . .” He blanched. “Oh god. Who the hell did I send it to?” He patted down his body for his phone, then searched the kitchen frantically. “Where is my phone?”
I couldn’t see it anywhere, so I hit Call and his phone rang from his bedroom. He ran to get it, and when he came back out, he was staring wide-eyed and ashen at his screen.
“Michael?”
He held his phone up, and no, he wasn’t aghast before. He was aghast now. “I sent it to Natalie.”
He walked robotically toward me, shoved his phone at my chest, and plonked himself on the couch.
I read the screen.
My parents just turned up uninvited. Give me until seven. Wear the Speedos.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she replied. LOL Michael I’m going to assume this message wasn’t for me. Hope the Speedos were a hit.
“Oh dear.”
He shot me a defeated look. “Yeah. Oh dear.” He held his hand out for the bottle. I passed it over and sat on the couch with him. He took another drink.
“It could have been worse,” I tried. “You could have accidentally texted something like ‘be here at seven and be ready to give me dick’ or ‘I want your dick so bad.’ That would’ve been worse.”
His mouth fell open. “I would have to change my name and leave the country if I did that.” He let his head fall back on the backrest. “I am so sorry. No one in my family has a filter, and boundaries are something other families appreciate. Mine, not so much.”
I stared at him, waiting for him to look at me. He didn’t though. Instead, he put his arm over his eyes.
“Michael,” I said gently. “I thought your family seemed kinda great.”
That made him look at me, and I was beginning to think, from the size of his eyes, that maybe I’d sprouted a second head. “Are you insane?”
I chuckled. “Honestly, they seem like genuinely nice people. Well, I think Susannah enjoyed your misery a little too much, but isn’t that what siblings do?”
“She’s getting me back because when she started dating Jad and she was trying to keep Mum and Dad out of it, I one hundred percent threw her under the bus.”
I laughed at that, and keeping his eyes on me, Michael smiled first, then he laughed. “Fucking hell. That was not how I wanted tonight to start, I can assure you.”
Had I intended to meet his whole family? Absolutely not. But now that I had, did I mind?
No, I didn’t.
“So, is everyone in your family a six-foot blond supermodel?”
He chuckled again and let out a long sigh. “My mum used to model when she was younger. And I’m technically only five foot eleven and a half inches, so no.”
I turned to face him. “Still wanna go for that swim?”
“I drank a quarter of a bottle of vodka, so that’s probably not a great idea.” He squinted his eyes shut and opened them again. “And you’re a little blurry.”
I took his hand and pulled him with me as I lay back so he was lying on top of me, his head on my chest. I fumbled the TV remote and found the comedy section. “Gremlins,” Michael called out as I scrolled.
I laughed but selected the movie and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “Gremlins, it is.”
He dozed a little about half an hour into the movie, then decided sleepy kisses were in order, and we missed the rest of the movie because sleepy kisses led to sleepy sex. We ordered food sometime after nine, laughed at stupid shit on the internet for an hour, and we went for that swim in our Speedos at midnight. And then, because Michael Bossy McBosserson demanded that third orgasm, we finally got to sleep around three.
I woke up to a kiss on my cheek. “I gotta get to work,” a voice said, warm in my ear. He smelled all shower-clean and warm-aftershave. “Pull the front door shut behind you when you go. Or stay here all day.” He kissed my hair. I felt his knee leave the bed. “If you’re still in my bed when I get home, I won’t mind.”
I cracked an eyelid, smiling. “What time is it?”
“Eight.” Michael stood there, looking fine as hell in suit pants and a pressed shirt. He seemed conflicted.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Just looking at you, naked in my bed and barely covered by the sheet . . .” He shook his head. “I’m just wondering what meetings I can reschedule today.”
I laughed and rolled over, facing away and tucking his pillow under my head. “Go to work. I’m doing work things today too. Just need to nap for a little longer.”
He laughed and slapped my arse, planted a kiss on my shoulder, and was gone.
I smiled into his pillow. It smelled of him, of us, and I fell back asleep for a bit. I was content and happy, and I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t acknowledge that my heart was involved now.
Well, my brain and my dick had been involved since the beginning, so that was nothing new. But my heart . . . it felt full and fluttery, and I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t want to fight it. This feeling, all warm and fuzzy, I wanted to fill a bathtub with it and soak in it.
I showered at his place, left my Prince T-shirt on his bed, and picked out a clean shirt from his wardrobe. It was a bit tight, but I didn’t care. I wanted to wear his shirt, and I wanted him to have mine. I wanted to see him in it, I wanted him to smell like me, I wanted him to have some part of me, and I wanted him to think of me while he wore it.
Was that some weird possessive shit that put some kind of claim on him as mine?
Probably.
Did I care?
Not one bit.
I smiled all the way home, and I was still smiling as I walked into the apartment, throwing my keys and phone onto the marble table before opening the fridge to look inside.
“I wondered when you’d get home,” a deep voice said, scaring the shit out of me.
I shot back, clearly startled to find my dad standing near the hall. I put my hand to my heart. “Christ. Warn me next time.” He almost smiled, so I took the juice from the fridge and poured myself a glass. “When did you get back?”
“Last night. Eight o’clock.” He gave me a disappointed look. “I wrongly assumed you’d be here.”
“I wrongly assumed your flight got in today.”
He gave a tight smile and a nod. “My meetings finished early.”
God, I hated that things were like this between us. I tried to be more upbeat. “So, what are your plans for today? Did you want to do lunch?”
“I thought you’d be busy,” he replied. “With your new business.”
He said the word like it sounded bad. “I am,” I answered. “But I can make exceptions.”
He considered that as though I was a child playing childish games, and he was quiet for a long moment. “So, where are your plans up to? What stage of the planning process?”