Wait, is he picturing me sleeping naked or something? God, I hope not.
Liar.
I shake my head to clear it. Obviously the guy who can get any girl he’s ever wanted, who has shown zero interest in me my whole life, is not fantasizing about me naked. That can only be for the best, right?
“It’s okay, I’ll be fine.” Needing to change the subject, I head toward the door. “Which room do you want me in?”
“How about the one across from me? That way if you need me, or I need you, we’ll hear each other if we have to call out.”
Oh, I can think of all kind of things I need Jonah for. Dirty things. Deliciously sexy things that would likely surprise the Body Checker.
“Sounds reasonable. Are the men gone?” I ask.
He gestures toward the big box leaning against the wall. “Yeah, and I want to get this crib set up right way.”
“I can help.”
“Our food is here though, so let’s eat.”
He leaves the room and, as I follow him, I try not to look at his perfect backside, all wrapped up so beautifully in his jeans as we head down the stairs. He glances at me over his shoulder and I’m far too slow to react. When my gaze finally meets his, he has a knowing grin on his face.
Shit.
“I ordered lasagna from Luigi’s.”
“Oh, my fave.”
He gives a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, I know, that’s why I ordered it.”
It might mean nothing to him, but my traitorous heart goes a little wobbly at his thoughtfulness. I reach the main level and check on Daisy, who’s still sound asleep on the sofa. I grin as I touch her cheek. “She’s beautiful, Jonah,” I say.
“Thanks,” he answers. “Have a seat, I’ll bring our plates in.”
I take a chair across from Daisy, and Jonah brings me a plate of lasagna and a glass of white wine. “You read my mind,” I say as I take the glass from him.
He gives me a lopsided smile that’s so damn adorable, I almost forget that I don’t like this guy. “I thought you could use a glass, even though you’re handling all this better than me.”
He disappears into the kitchen, and then comes back with his own plate of lasagna and a glass of water. I’m pleased by that, pleased that he listened to what I had to say this morning about drinking and is trying to do his best.
I bite into the lasagna, and a moan crawls out of my throat. Once again, Jonah’s nostrils flare, and he scrubs his chin like he’s fighting some internal war.
“Good?” he asks, his teeth clenched.
“The best.” I slide my fork into my mouth again—and that’s when I become aware of the way Jonah is watching me. I remove the utensil and use it to point at his plate. “Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He digs into his lasagna and devours it in record time.
Good Lord, I’ve eaten around a table with Jonah many times. When did he start shoveling in his food? “Hungry much?”
His fork clatters on his plate as he sets it on the coffee table. “I just want to get started on the crib.”
“Let me finish up and I’ll help.”
“No, it’s okay,” he says quickly and makes a beeline for the stairs, like he can’t get away from me quick enough.
Was it something I said?
I’m not sure, but I’m starving, so I dig back into my food, eating it slowly, because that’s way better for digestion. When I’m done, I take our dishes to the kitchen and load them into the dishwasher.