Slowly, Zebb smiles. “Then let’s find it.” He leans forward to kiss me, slow and sweet and too short. Then he’s reaching for the remote, clicking on his television and tugging me back to his chest so we collapse into his couch and watch John Cusack search for a woman he lost but never forgot.
10
“Hey, angel.” Zebb’s voice is groggy as he gently jostles me against his chest.
“I fell asleep.” I’m surprised as I slowly press upward.
With Zebb slumped into his couch, he’d tucked me into his side. Between the wine, good dinner, and the movie, I’d passed out. From his wrinkled expression, he did too.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Three o’clock.”
I twist to glance at the windows which have been dark since I arrived because . . . winter. But I still can’t believe it’s so late.
“Shit. I screwed up again.”
“What do you mean?” I turn to him as he sits forward and braces his elbows on his thighs.
“I wanted to make out on my couch for a little bit.” He sighs and turns his face to me. “I want nothing more than to take you upstairs and put you in my bed so I can hold you . . . but I can’t. Tam isn’t ready for that.”
Or maybe he isn’t?
“I get it.” Staying the night is too soon with a little girl in the house.
“I can’t even drive you home like a proper gentleman.”
I chuckle at the reference. “Uber is my friend.”
“But I hate sending you home in one.”
I appreciate his guilt, but I understand his position. He can’t leave Tam in the wee hours of the morning. “I’ll schedule a car.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and then I’m being jostled until Zebb is on his back and I’m lying on top of him.
“I don’t think this is a good position for us,” I tease as our bodies line up, chest to chest, legs along legs.
“I don’t want you to go, though,” he pouts.
“I really can’t stay.”
“Are we about to do this again?” His eyes dance despite the sleepiness in them. The Christmas lights on his tree are still on and the only illumination in the room as Zebb clicked off the television at some point.
“The song?” Again with “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”
“We could mix it up,” he suggests.
“I don’t think I can be that creative at three a.m.”
“Sure you can.” Zebb pauses. “You really must go.”
“I understand, though,” I sing.
“But I want you to stay,” Zebb croons and my panties melt at the roughness in his voice. If he can sing, I’m a melting snowman.
“Maybe another day.”
“I had a good time.” Zebb leans upward and presses a kiss to my nose.