Page 59 of Rootbound
“Hey,” I say, overly bright, breathless.
“Hi. Just making sure you’re not going to come up with an excuse to cancel on me.” Even his stupid phone voice is full of that warm, deep timbre.
“What? Why would I do that?”
“Because you’ll actually be alone with me again.”
I suck in a deep breath, swallow. She must’ve let him know she was cancelling, too. “I’ll head over in a few.”
I hang up without a goodbye.
I take extra care with my appearance because damnit, if I’m goingto be tortured, then so will he. I throw on my olive sundress because I like how it looks with my hair and skin tone. It’s a wrap style, with short sleeves and vines in a pattern all over. It’s a mid-maxi, but it opens up along the leg all the way above my mid-thigh, and the neckline is nice and deep. Sexy, yet understated. It wraps around my waist in the best spot.
It’s only when I get there and knock, crockpot tucked un-sexily under one arm (because how does one carry a crockpot without looking overly eager? Yes, this is how much I’ve worked myself up), that I realize the effort was futile compared to the raw sex appeal Henry has,withouthaving to try.
He opens the door, looking freshly showered, in a solid black tee, soft looking jeans, and yes, his damn bare feet again. His beard/scruff combo looks like it’s been trimmed, but I thank Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all their carpenter buddies that he didn’t cut it entirely.
I wonder what that little beard burn he left on my chest weeks ago would feel like on the inside of my thighs.…
Thankfully, his expression is also a bit wide-eyed, which gives me the confidence to stride in. He clears his throat behind me as I start setting things down and immediately go for a glass in the cupboard where I’ve learned he keeps them.
“New boots?” he asks, roughly. And I try not to squirm as I feel his eyes travel over me.
“Yeah, since you and LeighAnn have bothpointed out that I needed some better shit kickers, I got them while I was out with Em.”
“Attagirl.”
Oh, fuck. I’m tempted to grab a tortilla from the package nearby and slap myself with it. An “attagirl” has me practically preening; I think one of my knees caves a little.
“Here, let me. Margarita?” He reaches to grab my glass from me as I turn around, unable to meet his eyes, yet.
“Y-yeah. That sounds perfect.”God, get a GRIP, WOMAN.
“Tait?” He waits until I finally look at him. “You look beautiful. I really like your dress.” He smiles. It’s not his full, crinkly one; this one is a little more searching, those gold eyes assessing.
His hair already looks longer than when I first got here, a piece falling forward to rest along his jaw. I reach up to tuck it behind his ear before I can think better of it.
“Thanks,” I say before grabbing my hand back with my other since she’s apparently gone rogue. I scuttle out of the kitchen and around the island to put something between us.
“Sleep Walk” by Santo & Johnny is playing from somewhere, and though the melody doesn’t take the sex out of the air, I desperately will it to calm my nerves.
He passes me my drink and says, “Question time?” Then, after I nod woodenly, “Why’d you get dressed up tonight?”
I scoff, instantly annoyed. He knows why. “You know why.”
“Maybe I need you to say it out loud, though, just to be sure we are on the same page.”
“Well, why don’t you say what pageyouthink we are on and I will confirm or deny.”
He takes a gulp from his drink before setting it down a little too hard. “Tait. Please?”
I close my eyes. “It felt like this was… a date.”
I open them to see him twitching that hard jaw again. “Honey, they’ve all been dates to me. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”
Oh.
And, instead of taking that opening, I jolt out of my chair, shove a tortilla chip in my mouth, and say (around said chip), “I—I gotta go to the bathroom.” Damnit.