Page 25 of Reckless With You

The girls left, and I had a feeling that they were going to try setting me up on dates soon if I wasn’t careful. I wasn’t ready for that. But they wanted to help, so they were latching on to the one thing they could do.

I set the pie to cool and went to let my hair out of its braid, the waves falling around my face.

I quickly put on some makeup and changed my shirt.

I wasn’t getting ready for Tucker necessarily, but the fact that I’d been a complete mess and half-naked the last time he saw me told me that I needed to step it up a bit. I wasn’t trying to look good for him. Not in the slightest. Just trying to look good for myself.

To prove to myself and him that I wasn’t a complete dork.

I quickly put the pie in a carrier, one that I had gotten for Christmas one year and was thankful I had stored away in a cupboard, and headed over to Tucker’s.

I hadn’t called or texted to see if he was even there. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to leave it on his porch where it could freeze.

Apparently, I wasn’t really firing on all cylinders right now.

I parked in Tucker’s driveway, though I still didn’t know if he was home. He parked in the garage, so I couldn’t tell if his vehicle was here. Then I grabbed the pie and got out of my truck, hoping he was home. It was cold as I walked up, and that’s when I realized that I really had no idea what I was going to say.

Thanks for not commenting on my boobs.

Oh, yeah, that’s what I should lead with.

I rang the doorbell and waited for a bit, long enough that I was afraid he wasn’t home.

Great. This wasn’t going to be awkward at all. Leaving a pie on the doorstep, then having to text that I had done so.

Thanks for taking away the tequila, here’s pie.

Cold pie that’s probably ruined and practically store-bought.

Dear God, I was a mess.

No wonder Tobey didn’t want me.

And that was enough of that. No more pity parties. He was my friend. I just wasn’t going to be in love with him anymore. And I was going to thank Tucker for helping me out in a bad situation. Everything would go back to normal.

The door opened, and my eyes went to a very wet, very naked chest.

Dear God and everything that’s holy and sweaty and delicious.

I had slept against that chest all night, yet I still couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

It was all hard lines and plains, and every inch of him was slick and ready for teeth.

It looked as if he had just gotten out of the shower, his hair falling over his face before he used his arm to slick it back. I couldn’t help but follow the long lines of his biceps as they bulged when he did so.

I swallowed hard, avoiding his face, my gaze sliding down his body, across his muscled chest, down his eight-pack—not even a six, an eight—and then along the long lines of his torso.

He had those V lines, the ones that some called the Adonis lines. I called them lickable, biteable ones.

Oh, yes, they were the come-to-Mama lines.

I was going to hell.

But I couldn’t help but look at those grooves, or the neat trail of hair that led to where his towel rested very low on his hips.

So low, in fact, I caught a sexy glimpse of thigh at the gap in his towel.

It wasn’t even secured, except for his fingers grabbing it tightly in a fist.