“Is that what women do? Plot ahead?” The skepticism in his tone did nothing to bury the warmth.
She stood, grinning. “That’s kind of a cynical way of looking at it, but since I’m not looking to impress you, I’ll admit my memory works.”
He looked at her for a long moment before his gaze dropped to her lips, where it again lingered. “Mine does, too.”
Well, that did it. She barely heard the door buzzer over the crash of her heart, but it was more than that. It was need. Excruciating need. She’d fallen for him. Hard. And she was just going to have to pretend she hadn’t figured that out, because while she’d been saying she had to leave and that was that, she could stay. But even if she gave up her dream of travel photography, at least for a while, he’d made it clear he couldn’t—wouldn’t—be hers. It was the temporary nature of their relationship that had him feeling safe enough to let go. Nothing more—she was sure of it.
She mentally batted down an internal protest against the injustice of it all, realizing too late that he’d collected the pizza and paid the tip—something she’d fully intended to handle. Maybe next time. But if she had any sense of self-preservation, there wouldn’t be a next time. There’d be the gala in a few days, and then one way or another, she’d be on a plane. As soon as she shot the calendar—the one she was suddenly grateful he’d refused to do.
He cracked open a beer and handed her a plate. “Do you do coffee with your pizza?”
“Actually,” she said, nodding toward the beer, “Can I have one of those?” She wasn’t the biggest fan of beer, but even she had to admit it went better with pizza than iced coffee did. Besides, she had ice cream to take care of the flavor fix. And while one drink wouldn’t do much to ease the knot she had in her stomach, she’d feel a little better for trying.
Without hesitation, he handed her the one he’d just opened and grabbed another one from the fridge. “Table or sofa?”
She glanced at the plate in her hand. “Honestly, I usually just sit on the sofa and eat right over the box lid.”
“Then let’s do it.” He took the plate and put it back in the cabinet, then grabbed the box and followed her to the sofa.
She took a spot on one end—neutral territory—and he sat right next to her and flipped open the box. “I don’t normally eat over someone else’s box lid,” she admitted.
“I’m not worried about it.”
“I kind of am,” she said, eyeballing the pizza. The oversized thin slices were loaded with toppings. She could fold the slice in half and still lose half of what it contained. “I don’t want to contaminate your leftovers.”
“I think we’re past that point,” he said easily.
“Are we?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to cram them back. Asking him for any kind of assessment of what they were was the exact opposite of what she wanted, and for that matter, dropping pizza toppings all over his leftovers might have been the best possible move. Anything to rein in this undefined thing between them that neither of them wanted, although she had a very good, very bad feeling that it wasn’t the thing she had to worry about.
It was the aftermath.
It was Tuesday. The gala was Friday. She’d get through it. All she had to do was keep her mouth shut and eat her pizza—easier said than done, considering the physical impossibility of doing so—and not think about that kiss. Or those eyes. Or how it felt to be held by him, a thousand feet in open air, in a world that was almost exclusively theirs.
Yeah, this wasn’t working.
But it was going to have to. And it did, for a few blissful moments they spent tearing through the pizza. Ethan didn’t say anything until he’d polished off his fourth enormous slice. She shot a sideways glance at his abs and hated him for the fact they could exist if he always ate like that. Then her gaze crept upward, against her will, and hitched to his.
“Do you think she’ll be happy here with me?” he asked.
She needed a minute to realize he was talking about the dog. “Are you kidding? She’ll love it. She spent a lot of time alone at the shelter, and now she has your whole family. What’s not to love?”