Eligible Receiver (Men of Fall #3)- S.R. Grey Page 0,24

all right? You look really out of it right now. Maybe you need something to eat, something more substantial than candy?”

Yeah, I need you.

Oh, I can’t say that.

Lars is clearly perplexed as to why I’m standing here seemingly lost in thought.

Tell him, Becca.

Tell him you’re not fine.

Tell him you need his big, hard—

Brrrinnggg!

I almost jump out of my skin as the old landline phone on the nightstand rings, saving me from having to explain.

I have literally just been saved by the bell.

Phew!

The reprieve gives me time to pull my shit together.

As Lars walks over to the nightstand, I pop a candy heart into my mouth, just to put something there.

If it can’t be Lars, the next best thing is something loaded with sugar.

I watch as Lars answers the phone, talks for a minute, then hangs up.

“Who was it?” I ask.

“It was the lady from the front desk. She wanted to let us know she’ll be staying in the office all night long, in case we need anything. I guess it’s too bad out for her to drive home.”

“Okay,” I reply. “That was nice of her to tell us.”

“It was,” he agrees.

We’re just making idle conversation, both of us trying so damn hard not to stare at the heart-shaped bed.

I finally turn away and get to work on finally discarding my soggy jacket and boots.

Lars comes over to the door to do the same.

Afterward, we just kind of stand silently, not knowing what to do next.

Biting my lip, lest I say something that may get me into trouble—like “let’s try out that bed”—I lean over to where my jacket is draped over one of two chairs pushed under a small table and reach into the pocket.

“You want some hearts?” I ask Lars as I grab a few.

Shaking his head, he says, “No, I’m good. I am a little thirsty, though.”

Ha, I bet.

He’s probably having the same lusty thoughts as me.

I gesture to the door. “We can go check out the vending machines, if you want.”

“Or…” He points to a mini-bar in the corner that I hadn’t even noticed. “We can see what’s in there.”

“Wow, I didn’t even see that,” I say. “But yeah, let’s check it out. I’m game.”

Turns out, the mini-bar is stocked with one thing only—mini bottles of alcohol. And not just any alcohol—champagne.

Lars, kneeling as he holds open the door of the mini-bar, looks up at me and raises a brow.

I just laugh. “We should’ve known.”

“For sure. So”—he points inside—“would you like your own sample size of bubbly?”

I shrug. “You know what? I think I would.”

He hands me one of the small bottles of champagne, grabs one for himself, and then stands.

“We have the makings of a real party here,” he teases, raising his bottle to tap to mine.

After “clink-ing” my bottle to his, I unscrew the cap.

“It’s the fancy stuff, I see,” I tease, as it is so not.

That makes Lars laugh. “Yeah, right.”

I then proclaim, “Candy and champagne. Who could ask for anything more?”

Flopping down on the bed, Lars says, “We’re living the good life here, babe. No doubt about it.”

Whoa, I like how he just called me “babe.”

I sit down on the edge of the bed, mindful to leave plenty of room between us.

Holding my bottle aloft, I say, “Here’s to being snowed in.”

He taps my champagne with his bottle, and adds, “Or rather, here’s to being frozen in, as it stands for now.”

“Good point,” I murmur.

We drink champagne and share a few candy hearts. But then we realize we’re still really hungry.

“Woman, or man, cannot live on sugar alone,” I declare.

“Definitely not,” Lars says, standing. “How about if I go rustle us up some grub from the vending machines?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I reply, laughing at his playfulness.

“Any requests, m’lady?”

Rolling onto my stomach and peering up at him, I say, “No. Surprise me.”

After putting his jacket and boots back on, Lars announces, “I’ll be right back.”

“Be careful walking out there,” I warn, turning serious. “The rock salt from earlier has probably been covered up. The walkway could be really slippery.”

“Don’t worry,” he assures me. “I’ll be fine.”

Once Lars leaves, I jump up to see if there are more candy hearts in my jacket, even though I’m pretty sure we polished them off.

But no, score!

I find one lonely candy wedged way deep down in the pocket.

“Yes!” I pump my fist, victorious.

Hey, it’s the small things.

I realize then that with all the candy hearts Lars and I devoured while we were drinking champagne, we paid no