Page 62 of Goose

“You’re a hard person to read,” he said.

Since meeting him, there were a thousand things I wanted to say to Goose. I’d swallowed nearly all of them.

“Well,” I said. “I’m glad you offered. I enjoyed it.”

He came closer. “Which part?”

“In order of importance, or chronological?”

“Importance.”

“The kissing. Sleeping together. The sex.”

When I finished brushing my teeth, he was inches from me. I rinsed my mouth and faced him. “What?”

He kissed me. Not like he did at the bench. It was just enough to make me tingle. Want more.

“Let’s have some coffee and a little breakfast,” he said.

He turned and walked away. Partially hypnotized by his cute ass, and still a little schoolgirl-ish from the previous night’s perfect sex, I stood and stared. I could get used to what we had, but the odds of that were minimal, if at all.

Goose “threw together” a breakfast of omelets, toast, and fresh fruit. With the beach in full view, we sat across from each other at the kitchen island and ate. It seemed like a dream.

“I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to go for the club on Sunday.” He sipped his coffee. “Other than that, I’m going to be here for the rest of the week.”

I didn’t know what to say. It was Wednesday morning. By the sound of things, he had an uneventful few days planned.

“Okay,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“If you want, you can sleep over.”

“Again tonight?” I asked, as if it were no big deal.

“Until Sunday,” he said without looking up from his food. “When I leave with the club.”

I did a mental fist pump. And then, another. “I’d like that.”

He lifted his head. His eyes smiled. “Me, too.”