because I knew that would be pushing it, and it felt as though we’d reached a milestone at dinner. I’d been surprised when Presley had come right out and apologized for her reaction this morning. Truth was, I’d asked her to dinner to feel her out, to make sure this was what she wanted.
There was no doubt in my mind that we would sleep together this weekend. We’d been moving in that direction for some time now. So, I had needed to know that we were on the same page. If she had issues with what I did, or how it affected my world, I had intended to take her home and then go to a hotel.
“There are clean sheets in the closet,” she explained. “I’ll help you pull out the bed. But first, let me give you a tour.”
It took everything in me to set her on her feet and get up, but I managed. As I watched her, my desire for her at an all-time high, I pushed all of it back and took her hand when she held it out to me.
She led me from room to room on the first floor, showing me the guest bedroom, which was nothing more than a small bed and a dresser. According to Presley, that had been her dad’s bedroom. He’d bought the cabin and given her the master bedroom and bath, taking the smaller room for himself.
Other than that room and the kitchen, there was a tiny bathroom, a utility room, a closet, and a set of stairs leading to the second floor.
When Presley went for her suitcase, I grabbed it, then followed her up the stairs.
“This is the master bedroom,” she said. “It’s the only bed in the house that is remotely comfortable. In there is the master bath. At the moment, it has the only working shower.”
From where I stood, it appeared that the entire second floor was the bedroom and the adjoining master bath, which, combined, were about a third of the downstairs living space. It was cozy. I instantly wondered how Presley and her father had cohabited such a small, rustic space together. I knew a little about teenage girls, thanks to my interactions with Abby, so I got the feeling they’d gone toe to toe a few times. I didn’t want to ask, because I sensed her father was a sore subject for her.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take the bed?” Presley asked, turning to look at me.
I could see the exhaustion on her face, knew she would pass out the instant she hit the pillow. The thought of her wrapped around me on that big bed, her legs around my hips…
Yeah, I needed to go back downstairs.
“I’m sure. Anything I should know?”
“The sink and the toilet work in the downstairs bath, and if you really want, you can use the guest room, but like I said, the bed is horrible, and it’s kind of drafty.”
“Got it.”
“Good night,” she said softly.
“Night,” I said, turning to look at her briefly before going back downstairs.
Once my feet hit the hardwood, I released the breath I’d been holding. While I got my bearings, I scanned the room. I really did like this place. I didn’t think I’d be hindered to write while I was here, for whatever reason.
“Hey, Jake?”
I looked up the stairs to see Presley staring down at me.
“Would it be possible to borrow one of your T-shirts? It looks like I left my pajamas at home.”
I swallowed hard and managed to nod. The thought of her wearing my T-shirt made my dick spring to life. I looked down, then reached behind me and pulled my shirt off.
Presley chuckled. “I didn’t mean to take the shirt right off your back.”
I met her halfway up the stairs, passing it off.
“Thanks,” she said softly, clutching the shirt to her chest as her lips met mine briefly.
“Sure thing.” An image of her wearing nothing but my T-shirt formed in my mind, and I turned away, needing to put some distance between us. “Night.”
Knowing that Presley was upstairs, wearing my T-shirt, in bed… There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would be able to sleep, so I checked the kitchen, put down Cat’s food and water bowls, started a pot of coffee once I figured out the machine, grabbed another shirt and my notebook from my bag, and flopped down on the couch with Cat beside me, unable to ignore the urge to do something productive.