food.
Finally, he heard Paige coming back down the stairs.
He folded the paper and crossed to the sink with his cup.
“Is this okay to wear in the Boys of the Bayou office?” she asked.
He turned to face her.
She was dressed in denim shorts and a bright pink t-shirt with a light gray zippered sweatshirt over it. Her long bare legs ended in gray tennis shoes. Her hair was loose and falling in waves around her shoulders.
She looked so damned gorgeous. She looked like a classic All-American girl. The guys coming into the office today, tourists and delivery guys alike, were going to love this new addition.
He leaned back on the counter and gripped the edge to keep from reaching for her.
“You’re going to freeze in those shorts.”
She looked at the window. “What’s the temp today?”
“In the low 50s.”
She smiled. “It’s negative two at home. Negative two. I think I’ll be okay in fifty-something.”
He couldn’t help his answering smile. “Did you bring jeans? Full jeans? Or did you just pack your summer wardrobe?”
Paige looked down at herself. “Mostly summer wardrobe.”
“It gets colder at night.”
She looked up. “I thought I’d have someone to keep me warm at night.”
He swallowed and curled his fingers into the counter. “You don’t want me to propose.”
Her eyes widened. “No. I don’t.”
Just saying the word “propose” didn’t count as a proposal. He assumed.
“Then it’s probably best if we sleep separately.”
She took a deep breath. “So no sex? Really? Not at all?”
He loved that she looked disappointed by that idea.
He was a good guy. He was. By everyone’s account. Well, maybe not a couple of girls that had wanted the proposal from him that Paige was so averse to. But most people thought he was great.
But he wasn’t a saint.
“I didn’t say not at all.”
“You kind of did.”
“I said we shouldn’t sleep in the same bed together every night.”
“So like Monday, Wednesday, Friday?” she asked, her tone and expression making it clear that sounded dumb.
He blew out a breath. He knew his idea might be a little crazy, but they needed some guidelines.
“I want to date you,” he said. “I definitely want to have sex with you. I also want to give you a place to stay. So we just need some rules.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly, but she nodded. “I’m listening.”
“Because I said I want to have sex with you?” he teased.
“Yes.”
He laughed. Having this gorgeous woman that had him twisted in knots want him so much and be so open about it was a turn-on like nothing he’d experienced before.
“Okay, so Tuesday, Friday, Saturday are date nights. Tuesdays we stay in. Watch a movie or sit on the porch—”
“Can we lie in the hammock together?” Paige interrupted.
He nodded. “Sure.”
“I’m in.”
Well, that had been easy. “You like my hammock?” he asked.
“That—” She pointed at him. “You can’t do that if we’re not sleeping together.”
“Do what?”
“Say things in that sexy, flirty tone of voice.”
“Did I use a sexy, flirty tone of voice?”
Her eyes narrowed again. “You did.”
“Huh.”
“You don’t even know when you’re doing it?”
“I guess not all the time.”
She rolled her eyes. “What happens on the other nights? The non-date nights?”
“Well, Friday is always the crawfish boil at Ellie’s. We’ll go to that together and… other stuff.”
She gave him a watch it look.
His voice must have sounded sexy and flirty then too. He grinned. “Saturday nights are, of course, a traditional date night. I’ll show you the area. We can go up to New Orleans. That kind of stuff.”
She nodded. “But what about the other nights?”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. Her wanting him this much was nice. “Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Sunday we’re friends, co-workers, roommates.”
“And that’s it?”
“Yep. No meals together. No kissing or touching.”
“No sexy, flirty stuff,” she said.
“I’ll try.”
“You better. If I jump you on a Monday, it will be your own fault.”
He smirked. “You’re going to have to have some self-control, Ms. Asher. You’re the one who doesn’t want a diamond ring.”
She narrowed her eyes again and nodded. “Right.”
“So, when we’re home together, we can’t sit on the couch together. You can’t walk around in only a towel after your shower. You need a robe. And—” He paused. “This is a big one.”
“Okay.”
“No yoga in the living room. And definitely, no wearing that sweatshirt.”
He knew that she knew which sweatshirt. He’d been very open about what that half sweatshirt did to him.
“But there’s not enough room in my bedroom to do yoga,” she said.
“What about front porch yoga?” he asked.
She glanced toward the front of the