21. Marley

21

MARLEY

I take a sharp inhale before I climb the steps to my apartment. Nervous excitement tingles through my body as my mind spins through what might happen tonight. I’ve tried to temper my expectations. Liam never expressly called it a date, but asking me to dinner after a heart-stopping kiss seems date- ish at the very least.

It makes me wish I had something nicer on than a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and my flannel jacket, but there isn’t much I can do. At least Fin fixed my fly-aways before I left the office. Her expression when I told her I didn’t own any makeup was the highlight of my day.

Heart thundering, I climb the steps and try to ignore the tremor in my hand as I unlock the door. I have no reason to think that he’s there or waiting for me, but I hold my breath all the same as I enter.

“Hey,” Liam greets me from the stove where he’s cooking something that smells sinfully delicious. “How was your day?”

I blush. Full-on blush because this gorgeous man is slaving over a stove for me, asking me how my day was with a grin on his face that could stop a stampede. “Uh, good,” I answer, unable to recall a single fact about my day as I notice the muscles in his forearms as he stirs what I suspect is a creamy sauce. “Yours?”

“Good,” he answers, his eyes skating over my body as if he can’t stop himself. It makes me ridiculously happy.

We stand there for a moment, eyes locked, heat sizzling and sparking in my stomach before I nod toward my bedroom. “I’m, uh, just going to get settled.”

“Dinner will be ready in about an hour,” he tells me, and I shuffle quickly to my bedroom, biting my lip so I don’t giggle like a child.

Once there, I collapse face-first into my bed and let out a muffled scream of joy, excitement, and a thousand other things, because I may not know if this is a date, but I sure know by the smile that he gave me that he hopes it is.

Stephen nudges my forehead with his cold nose, worried that something is wrong. “I’m okay, buddy,” I tell him. Picking him up like a baby—a move he hates more than anything. “Better than okay.”

With a dirty look, he scrambles from my arms and I decide to do some quick repair work on my appearance. I throw off my clothes and put on the sexiest bra and panties I have—in my case, this just means there aren’t any holes. I mentally make a note to update my lingerie collection as soon as possible.

Once the girls are scaffolded into place, I pull on a soft cotton t-shirt with a V-neck that shows them off just a little and my favorite high-rise, miracle hold black leggings. After confirming that my appearance is acceptable in the full-length mirror, I pull my hair from my top knot, brush it out, and twist it back up with a little more care and fewer stragglers.

Dotting on some lip gloss—the only make-up in my arsenal—I look at Stephen and tell him. “I got this.”

Still angry that I cuddled him, he just turns his head and goes back to sleep on my pillow.

With a deep breath, I step out into the living room feeling a little less ‘Dickensian urchin’ and a little more like ‘woman hoping to bang’.

When Liam looks at me, his eyes flash with hunger and when they land on the cleavage I hoisted into view, he almost drops the spoon he’s holding. I give my inner self a high-five and saunter over towards the kitchen like I know what I’m doing.

For the record I don’t. Not even a little. If I had a memoir, the chapter dealing with my sex life would be about three pages long. Better left to an afterward. I’ve had three men in my bed—all of them terrible, selfish lovers. Or at least that’s what I’m hoping because sex so far has been a significant letdown, and if that’s as good as it gets, I think the world owes me an explanation for hyping it up so much.

“Wow,” he says quietly, “you look incredible.”

I silently thank the gods of Spandex and smile back. “Thank you, you too.” Finally able to focus on more than just his yummy forearms, I notice he is wearing a nice pair of jeans and a soft blue fitted t-shirt that sets off his eyes. The fabric stretches perfectly across his strong biceps and toned, sinewy core and my fingers flex at the desire to slide across the warm muscles underneath.

He gives a little smile. “Figured it might be nice if I was in more than my sweaty running clothes for once.”

“What are you making?” I ask, standing close but out of his way because I’ve seen my mother meltdown more than once when someone was at her elbow while cooking.

“Chicken Alfredo, veggies, bruschetta, and cheesecake.” He grins when he sees my eyes flash. “And if you check the fridge, I brought home something I think you’ll really like.”

I make my way to the fridge like a giddy child, my body tingling with the idea that he put all this work into a dinner for me. Me . “Oh my God,” I gasp upon finding a six-pack of ice- cold Redpoint Cider sitting next to the most delectable caramel cheesecake I’ve ever seen. “This is perfect.”

He eyes me as if to make sure I’m telling the truth. He looks relieved to find out I’m honest. “I’m glad you like it. Wine probably would have been more appropriate.”

I make a face. “Ew, no. I don’t care for wine. It’s an instant headache for me.”

“Same,” he answers, pulling the pot with the pasta off the stove and carrying it to the sink where the colander is waiting for him to strain it. A cloud of steam puffs up as he pours the pasta. “It probably won’t come as a surprise, seeing as how I am part owner of a brewery, but I’m pretty much a beer guy all of the time.”

“Makes perfect sense,” I answer, watching him transfer the noodles from one pot to another. “But honestly, for me, it’s all about the sweet stuff. Give me cider, give me a sugary margarita and I am a happy girl.”

The grin he flashes me is sin itself. “Good to know.”

I shiver at the lowered tone of his voice and get the feeling that if I’m very lucky, this won’t be the only set of shivers I get tonight.

My God, I can’t wait for more.