Before I’m ready for the kiss to end, he tears his mouth from mine, slides his fingers into my hair to cup the back of my head, and tucks my face into his neck, muttering a quiet “Fuck.”
“Was that a ‘shut up’ kiss?” I pull back to look at him, still breathing heavily and dazed from the kiss.
“No, that was an ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you all morning but never had the opportunity to kiss you until now’ kiss.”
“Good to know.” I lick my lips. “I like that kiss way more than the ‘shut up’ kiss.”
His eyes heat up as they drop to my mouth. “We should get this done so we can get out on the lake.”
“If you move, I’ll get down and we can get on with that.”
“Give me a minute, sweetheart.”
My brows drag together. “I thought you were ready to go in.”
“Yeah, but I’m not really down with everyone seeing how badly I want you.” My lips part as his hips tilt slightly into mine, showing me exactly what he means. “Yeah,” he mutters, and I smile, a little proud of myself for causing that kind of reaction. “Your cute, pleased little smile isn’t helping matters.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re breathing, babe.”
“Do you want me to hold my breath?” I ask, and his eyes narrow slightly. “What? I’m just trying to help.”
“Just be quiet.”
“Okay.” I pretend to zip my lips closed and toss the key away.
“Stop being fucking cute.”
“I’m not doing anything!” I start to laugh.
“Yeah, you are.”
“Fine, just pretend I’m not here.” I press my lips together and sit completely still.
“Fuck it. This is obviously not going to go away anytime soon.” He pulls me down from the cab and sets me on my feet. “Just stand in front of me.”
“Sure,” I say with a laugh. He slams the door shut, and I start to walk with him right behind me, his hand wrapped around the side of my waist. “I feel like we look like you’re holding me at gunpoint or something,” I whisper as we walk up the steps to the porch.
“It’ll be fine.” He raises his hand over the top of my shoulder and opens a wooden screen door with a metal handle attached to it. I step inside, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light. When they do, I see the room is set up like a small convenience store, with aisles of food and fishing supplies.
“How can I help you two?” a man wearing denim overalls and an old blue baseball cap over his white hair asks from behind the counter.
“She needs a fishing license, and I reserved a skiff for today under the name Miller.”
The man nods and grabs a clipboard from the wall behind him. “I’ll need to see your ID, honey.” I walk to the counter and hand over my license. Once he’s done copying my information, he hands the ID back to me, along with the clipboard. “Fill in the blanks,” he instructs, then looks to Calvin. “While she’s working on that, you can follow me out to the dock. We’ll check the boat over and make sure everything’s in working order.”
“Sounds good,” Calvin agrees, giving my waist a squeeze. “Be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” I say, and he leans in to touch his mouth to mine, then looks over the top of my head, lifting his chin to signal he’s ready to go. When the two of them leave, I quickly fill out the rest of the paperwork; then, like most women who are left alone in a store, I end up distracted by the stuff on the shelves. I grab a basket from beside the door and pick up chips, cookies, and candy bars, then go to the cooler on the back wall and take out a few bottles of water, ignoring the Styrofoam containers labeled WORMS.
I carry my overflowing basket to the register and set it down, then walk down the aisle of poles and pick up a pink one. It’s cute and sparkly—totally me. I take it back to the counter with me and place it next to my other items, then turn to watch Calvin open the door and come toward me, with the old man following him.
“I got us some snacks,” I say, and he drops his gaze to the basket, then looks at me, raising a brow. “Okay, a lot of snacks.” I grin, and his eyes move over my face before landing on my mouth.
His lips tip into a smile, and he shakes his head, then looks over the top of my head. “How much do I owe you, Bruce?”
I turn to look at the man who must be Bruce and watch him sign the bottom of my paperwork. He adds up my stuff, and when he gets to the fishing pole, he picks it up and grins like an idiot. “You’ve got good taste, girl.”