“Whatever.”
His gaze wandered down my body, pausing at my waist for a split second. “You might want to,” he gestured to the sheet hanging halfway down the windowsill, “cover up.”
“Shit.” My chest and cheeks burned, and I grabbed the sheet, wrapping it tightly around me. That’s when it hit me. “Um…did we…you know.”
He slanted his head to the side. “Did we what?”
“You know.” God, I couldn’t even find the words. I could feel my skin burn with the uneasiness that churned in my stomach. “Did we, you know…mess around?”
He frowned. “By mess around, you mean—”
“Did we have sex?” I blurted out. “God, are you slow?”
The grin on his face widened, the dimples above his lips reminding me how much I enjoyed our PDA at the party that night. “No. I knew what you meant. I just wanted you to say it.”
“Oh my God.” I rolled my eyes.
“Seriously, though. No. We didn’t have sex.”
“Then why did I wake up half-naked?”
He smirked and shook his head lightly, dark auburn curls ruffling across his forehead. “You undressed yourself.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Listen, besides the fact that you’re what, twelve—”
“Excuse me? I’m twenty, fuck you very much.”
“Well, I’m thirty-five, and fucking teenagers ain’t my thing.”
The way he said ‘fucking,’ how his voice thrummed as his tongue rolled out the word, had me clenching my thighs. There was something erotic about it, about him. His voice. The way he spoke, the tenor in his voice. It had my insides all coiled up, my skin heated, and heart racing.
I shifted from one leg to the other. “I guess it makes sense that someone your age would think me a teenager.”
He cocked a brow. “Thirty-five is not old, little girl.”
“And twenty is not considered a teenager, old man.”
“Okay.” He pulled a palm down his face, the sun causing the sweat on his shoulders to shimmer. “Listen, I didn’t do anything to you last night other than put you in bed and clean your vomit off my fucking feet.”
My cheeks warmed, vaguely remembering throwing up. I straightened, blowing a petunia petal from my hair. “Then explain to me what you’re doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?”
“Um…” I rubbed my temples. “This hangover is making it real hard to think right now. Nowhere on Google does it say copious amounts of tequila can trigger a brain aneurysm.”
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, and I shot him an unamused glare. “Seriously. It’s kind of creepy that the guy who tongue-fucked me at a party a few weeks ago is now suddenly here at my house.”
“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who kissed me.”
“Look at that, memory loss at thirty-five. I’d get that checked out if I were you.”
He stepped into a sunray breaking through the branches of an oak tree. Blue eyes glimmered. Like diamonds. Iridescent. Cold, yet burning white-hot. “You. Kissed me.”
“But you kissed me back.”
He moved closer, towering over me like a six-foot-five brick wall. “I kissed you back because I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”