"That was fast," I note, pulling her against me as I stand.

Her eyes are wide as she nods. "I know."

"Apologizing is that much of a turn-on, huh?"

"Don't get any ideas."

"About your lips on my cock or about you issuing apologies?"

"Me issuing apologies."

"That's good, because I have lots of thoughts about your lips on my cock. Highly inappropriate thoughts."

She laughs, the movement vibrating through her. "I'm sure."

"Don't pretend you don't have the same thoughts."

She raises an eyebrow. "About my lips on your cock?"

"Say that again."

The corners of her mouth turn up. When she speaks, she does it with exaggerated slowness, punctuating each word with a breathy inhale. "My lips. Your cock."

"That's it." I slip my palm under the edge of her t-shirt, running it over her taut stomach. "You've been thinking about it, haven't you?"

She blushes. "You're so full of yourself."

"Just like your mouth."

"Just like my mouth what?"

"Was so full of me."

She slaps my arm. "You're really juvenile."

"Yet you're completely obsessed with my dick."

"I am not obsessed with your dick."

"It's okay to admit it. I won't judge."

Lily rolls her eyes. "Is this the mountain man version of foreplay?" she asks as my hand slides around her back. "Adolescent banter and talk about your cock?"

She asks the question like it's something bad, but she's not even trying to hide her smile.

"Well, I don't know 'bout no witty rep-ar-tee," I say, affecting an accent, "but up in these parts, talkin' don't count as foreplay."

"Oh yeah? What we just did, was that foreplay?"

"Definitely not. Foreplay would assume I'm going to stick it to you."

"I think this might be the classiest conversation I've ever had in my life." She pauses for a beat. "Wait, so you're saying you're not going to stick it to me?"

"'Fraid not, ma'am."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Why not?"

"Already told you. I need to be wined and dined first, romanced a little."

She laughs. "Is that how you're going to play it, caveman?"

"Yup."

"This is your ploy to get me to go out with you?"

"Is it working?"

She doesn't answer, just turns and walks down the steps to the driveway. Then she looks over her shoulder, a grin still on her face. "Fine. But you know the whole town's going to be talking if they see us together."

I shrug. "Maybe you confused me with someone who gives a shit what people think."

"I definitely haven't forgotten that." She opens her car door. "See you, caveman."

"Is that a yes?"

She pauses for a minute. "Fine. It's a yes."

I watch her pull away, no doubt on her way to pick up her kid from school. It's only after she pulls away that it dawns on me. I just talked my way into a date with a woman who was totally fine just screwing me, without any strings attached and told her she had to wait for sex.

What the ever-loving hell is wrong with me?

24.

Lily "Mommy," Chloe moans from the sofa, her voice hoarse. "My throat hurts."

"Do you want some more juice?" I touch the back of my hand to her forehead. "You're pretty warm, sweetheart."

"Orange juice, please," she requests, her gaze going behind me to the television, attention completely focused on the cartoon she's watching.

I grab a Tylenol and her orange juice and she takes them wordlessly, her head craning to see the TV around me. She's snuggled up with her favorite bear and her books, but has mostly been watching cartoons and sniffling on the sofa. The pediatrician said it was nothing to worry about, probably the flu, and that it should pass in a few days. He prescribed fluids and rest. Of course, like most seven-year-olds, Chloe isn't so great about resting. She's already going stir-crazy.

In the kitchen, I'm working on a birthday cake for a customer a small one, fortunately, otherwise I'd never be able to fit it in my refrigerator. But I can't afford to fall behind. It's times like this that I realize I really have to find someone else to help out at the store. I can't just rely on Opal to help take care of things when Chloe gets sick or if there's an emergency.

Opal reassured me that the store was just fine without me today. Tomorrow, Bethany, my babysitter, will come hang out with Chloe while I go to work. Everything is taken care of. Except I have the nagging feeling that I forgot something.

My phone vibrates and I look down at the text message from Killian.

Should I pick you up at eight o'clock?

Oh shit. The date.

I swipe the screen on my phone and text Killian back.

Chloe's sick. Flu. I'll have to take a rain check.

My phone buzzes again.

Need anything?

I pause before I respond.

Thanks, but we're good.

The phone goes silent after that. He probably thinks I'm blowing him off and using Chloe as an excuse. I second-guess the text message about a hundred times as I busy myself with work, taking advantage of the fact that Chloe is quiet and settled. I should text him back, I tell myself something less abrupt, apologize for not being able to make the date.

I pipe flowers onto the cake in various shades of pink and purple before dusting the entire surface with edible glitter.

Chloe calls me from the living room. "Mo-om!"

"Hang on a second." I slide the cake into the refrigerator before heading for the living room.

"This is over. I don't want to watch TV anymore. I'm bored," she complains before putting her head on the arm of the sofa.

"Why don't I read you a book?"

"Can you get the princess and the dragon one?"

"Do you know where it is?"

"No," she whines. "In my room somewhere. Will you find it? I'm tired."

"I'll go find it."

"Can we paint our nails? And do makeup?"

"I thought you were too tired to look for the book yourself. I take it you're feeling better than you were earlier?"

"I'm bo-red."

My gaze lands on the princess book shoved sideways between a couple of other books in the living room bookcase. "Is that the princess book you were talking about?"

"Yes!" Chloe leans forward and grabs it from my hands before I even reach the sofa. "Will you read it to me?"

"Let me get my water, and I'll come back and read." Chloe is reading on her own now, but the princess and the dragon is one we read together. I want to keep that as long as possible.

The doorbell rings, and Chloe perks up. "Who's that?"

"Probably a salesperson or something," I say, holding my hand up when she sits up. "Don't come to the door with me. You're sick."

"But I'm bored, too."

I give her a glare. "You're supposed to rest. I'll get it."

"Mo-om."

"Don't mom me," I call as I walk down the hallway. I pull the door open to see Killian standing there, holding two paper bags. "What are you doing here?"

Oh, God. Killian is here and I look like. . . well, I look like I'm a mom hanging out with my sick kid.

My hand flies to my hair, pulled up into an unruly pile on top of my head. I glance down at my clothes, even though I already know I'm wearing my stay-at-home outfit this faded pair of striped pajama shorts that barely cover my ass and a ratty white tank top with a hole in the side. And no bra. Or makeup.

Killian's eyes drift down the length of my body and up again, and he does absolutely nothing to even try to hide it. My cheeks warm under his gaze, and I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling naked in front of him, which is totally ridiculous given the fact that his mouth has been between my legs.

Killian holds up two paper bags. "I brought supplies."

"What kind of supplies?" I take one of the bags from his hand as he follows me into the kitchen. Setting the bag on the counter, I pull out a bottle of whiskey, a glass jar of honey, and a lemon.

"My grandma's recipe. Whiskey, honey, and lemon. Works for a cold or the flu burns the germs right out of you."

"You understand that it's my seven-year-old child who's sick, right?"

Killian stares at me blankly. "Yeah. Whiskey helps them sleep." I gape at him for a second, mostly because I can't believe he really doesn't know the bare basics about kids. Then he chuckles. "I'm kidding, shit. There's chicken soup in this bag. The whiskey is for you. I do know enough not to feed whiskey to a seven-year-old." He pauses for a beat. "You have to wait until they're twelve, right?"

I slap him on the arm.

"Who is it, mom?" Chloe yells from the sofa.

"My friend from the bakery," I call. "He brought soup."

"Friend, huh?" Killian asks, standing beside me, far too close to be friendly.

I clear my throat, trying to shake off the goose bumps that dot my arms just because I'm standing so close to him. "Friend," I repeat.

What the hell else would we be? My mind immediately goes to Opal and her terms for her relationship with Bert: booty call, fuck buddy.

Killian and I haven't had sex yet, so there's no fuck buddying involved. So we're friends. Just friends.

He moves so he's right behind me and whispers in my ear. "Totally platonic."

I swallow hard as heat surges through my body. "Platonic."

"Platonic friends who are going out on a date."