He nodded, his jaw working. “I don’t know. But I’m trying to be. I’m trying to listen to what you said, trying to think it through. That’s going to have to be enough for now.”
“It is,” she told him softly. “It’s more than enough.”
“Good.” He grinned wickedly, started walking her backward again.
“Where are we going?” she asked, breathless now with all the feelings churning inside of her. Love, lust, fear, hope…so much hope that she felt like her whole body was lit up with the stuff. “Quinn says the couch is off-limits.”
“Yeah,” he agreed with a wicked grin, “but he didn’t say anything about his favorite chair…”
Chapter Nineteen
“Well, you certainly look happy,” Jamison observed as Wyatt walked into the kitchen a little over an hour later. “And well-exercised.” The grin she shot him was amused, and he knew the guys hadn’t exactly been discreet about what he and Poppy were getting up to in the studio.
Which had been quite a lot, and right now he didn’t care if the whole world knew it. He’d just walked Poppy to her car after making her come half a dozen times. If it had been up to him, she would have stayed and he would have made her come half a dozen more before the evening was over. The sounds she made as she went over the edge were rapidly becoming his favorite addiction—as was the taste of her against his lips. Add in the fact that she’d let him fuck her—twice—on Quinn’s favorite chair, and he was feeling pretty good all the way around. But she’d insisted he and the guys needed to talk, and she was probably right. So he’d let her go and was now trying really hard not to regret that fact.
“Exercise is good for the soul,” he told Jamison as he walked over to the drinks fridge. A cursory look at the contents told him all the alcohol had been removed from here, too—which normally would have bothered the hell out of him. But right now he was in too good a mood to get messed up by the fact that his friends were afraid to trust him. Besides, maybe Poppy was right—maybe they really were just trying to help.
He grabbed a bottle of cranberry juice, then walked over to the center island and snitched a slice of cucumber from the vegetables Jamison was cutting up for dinner.
“
Take a seat,” she told him, nodding at the kitchen table, where pretty much every important discussion happened while at Quinn’s house.
He followed directions, brows raised questioningly. Jamison was pretty much his best friend on the planet, and if she wanted to talk, he would talk. Even if doing so felt a little like opening a vein.
She didn’t answer his silent inquiry right away. Instead, she made up a plate of cheese and crackers along with some grapes and a handful of salad vegetables and slid it onto the table in front of him.
“Eat.”
He rolled his eyes. “What is it about the women in my life that makes them keep trying to feed me health food?”
“Gouda is not health food,” she retorted as she grabbed a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice for herself.
“It’s healthier than chocolate cake or heroin.”
“Yeah, well, so is just about everything. That doesn’t make it health food.” She grabbed a slice of red pepper and bit into it with a resounding crunch. “Besides, you need the nutrients. You’re pale and skinny.”
“Wow, you really know how to make a man feel good about himself,” he deadpanned.
“You know me. I’m all about the cheap flattery.” She ruffled his hair as she dropped into the seat across from him.
He reached for a handful of grapes under her watchful eye, because he knew it would make her happy. But as she continued to stare at him long after he’d eaten the grapes and a couple of pieces of cheese, he could feel himself becoming defensive. Uncomfortable.
“What?” he finally demanded, when he could take her scrutiny no more. “What’s the problem?”
“No problem. It’s just…you look happy. It’s kind of weird. I mean, good weird, but still weird.”
“Seriously? You used to get freaked out because you thought I was miserable and now you’re freaked out because you think I’m happy?”
“I know.” She popped a grape into her own mouth. “It makes no sense. And I’m thrilled you’re happy. It’s just a little weird.”
“I just got laid,” he told her bluntly. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”
She leveled a mock glare at him. “Some things I don’t need to know.”
“Really? Because you’re certainly acting like you need to know everything.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, just as the buzzer on the oven went off. “Calling me a wannabe know-it-all isn’t a smart move when I’ve just baked your favorite brownies.”