10. A Whole Lot Messier

CHAPTER 10

A WHOLE LOT MESSIER

WESTON

Somehow, I don’t open my eyes for almost twelve hours. When I finally wake up, it’s only because I hear the bed creak as Abbi slides out of it.

My eyes fly open, and there's an awful lot of daylight in the room. “Holy God. What time is it?”

“Eleven!” Abbi gasps. “Can you believe it?”

“Wow. I guess we needed that.” I roll over onto my belly and squint at her. She’s wearing a cute plaid bathrobe over her PJs, and she has pillow creases on her sweet face.

But as I examine her, she grabs for her crazy hair and yelps. “Don't look. I'm a disaster.”

I chuckle against the pillow. “Careful, Abbi. Don't let Stevie hear you say that. If you were mine, I'd have seen you a whole lot messier.”

Her face goes instantly pink, and I realize that statement sounded all hot and bothered. Which is how I feel, suddenly. It’s hard not to wonder what she’d look like in my bed after sex. Especially when I'm lying in this bed, my morning wood against the mattress. Oops.

“Mind if I take a shower?” she asks, grabbing her duffel bag off the floor.

“You go ahead,” I say quickly. “I put a clean towel on the shower bar for you. The pink one. And you can leave your bag here if you want. There’s all kinds of products in there. And I’ll trade you for the bathroom when you come back.”

“Okay. Cool.” She drops the bag. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

“Take your time. Make yourself comfortable.”

She leaves the room and I sink back into the pillow. I can’t believe I slept a whole night in this bed with hot Abbi. I’m lucky my subconscious didn’t give me some kind of freaky sex dream, where I’d wake up humping her leg like a randy Golden Retriever.

For that, I think I deserve some coffee.

When Abbi returns in her bathrobe with a towel on her head, I hustle to shower and shave. She actually waits for me to take my turn, instead of going downstairs. I think she's nervous about facing my father alone.

But I know my dad. Nobody will be more embarrassed than he will over that shit he pulled last night. He'll be nothing but polite to her today.

The minute we hit the kitchen, I know I'm right. Dad puts down his newspaper and springs off his stool. “Coffee? Did everyone sleep well?”

“So well,” Abbi says politely as I pull out a counter stool for her. “I haven’t slept so late in ages. Maybe ever.”

“Abbi works two jobs and goes to school full time,” I point out. I know I’m laying it on awfully thick. But I'm proud of her, which is weird, because we haven’t known each other very long. My fake girlfriend is fierce. Her life isn’t easy, and I admire her in so many ways.

“Well, you’re on vacation now,” my father says smoothly. He pours two cups of coffee and slides them onto the counter, along with a jug of milk.

And then? He opens up the waffle iron and tips a ladle of batter in. “We've got bacon and sausage in the warming drawer,” he says. “And sliced strawberries, maple syrup, and whipped cream.”

“Wow,” I say slowly. That’s what he used to make on Christmas Eve. Back in the Before Times. “Thanks, Dad.”

“No problem.” He flashes me a quick smile, but it's gone in an instant. “In case you’re curious, I already called your sister to apologize. She's still mad, though.”

When he turns his back, Abbi and I exchange a surreptitious glance. Of course Lauren is still mad.

“I told her it was probably a good time to ask for a wedding gift. So she did, although it wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What did she ask for?”

His chuckle is dry. “She wants me to go to counseling.”

Oh wow. “And?”

“I told her I’d go. To make her, uh, feel better.”

“And maybe you as well?” I suggest.

He shrugs. “I guess we'll find out. I’m buying them some of their dishes too. Just as a backup plan.”

Abbi giggles into her coffee mug. She drinks it black, I notice, and file that information away for later. A guy should know how his woman takes her coffee.

“Anyway,” my dad continues. “I’m headed to the office for a couple hours.” He pops a slice of strawberry into his mouth before setting the serving dish onto the counter in front of Abbi and me.

“Wait, you’re working on Christmas Eve ?” I ask.

“Westie,” Abbi says gently. She lays a hand on top of mine, and her smooth fingers feel sweet against my skin. A prickle of awareness settles over me. I like her touching me. I like it a lot. “That’s what a man says when he isn’t quite done with his Christmas shopping.”

My dad chuckles. “She’s a quick one, Weston. Nothing gets by Abbi. Remember that.”

“Oh, I will,” I say, playing along. I lift my hand from under hers, and then wrap my arm around her instead, because I’m Mr. Smooth.

She leans against me, also playing along. And doesn’t that feel nice.

Uh-oh. It feels a little too nice. My dick is confused now. Little Mr. Smooth doesn’t know that this is just a charade. He did not get the memo.

Mayday . I’ve got another day and night to be this close to Abbi. She smells like flowers and coffee and good times. By bedtime, I’ll probably have to ice down my dick if this keeps up .

Luckily, the waffle iron beeps, and I let go of Abbi to fetch some plates and silverware.

“That smells amazing,” Abbi says as my dad opens the waffle iron. “Mmm!”

If she moans while she eats, I’m a dead man. Quick—I need to find us an activity for the day. Something that won’t involve us cuddled up on a couch watching a movie together. I need more separation than that.

I need to cool the fuck down.