“I like it,” he said, scanning her list. “Especially the part where kids can excavate little toys out of ice by experimenting with droppers of warm water and other stuff. I still have some of those little plastic penguins. We can get more figurines like that, and then the kids can just keep them.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” she said, “except I’m not sure about the choking hazard aspect. We’ll have to consider that one more.”
He raised his eyebrow at her use of the word “we,” and she took a deep breath, telling herself to just go for it. If he said no, no big deal, right? She wouldn’t even be able to blame him, after what a production she’d made of turning him down again and again.
“Would you want to work together?” she asked. “I mean, obviously you can still work on your mural idea, and in fact I was thinking that this could use some art to show how cute we could make it for the kids . . . I’d help you with any budgeting parts you needed assistance with, and I have a bunch of other thoughts on changes we could make to cut costs or increase revenue even more, like there’s a local peewee hockey team that needs a place to practice, and our rink isn’t regulation but we could make it work if they came in for an hour during the slow part of the day—”
“Lauren.” Asa cut her off, laughing. “I’d love to work with you on this. Seriously.”
“Yeah?”
He leaned over the notebook, angling his body so she couldn’t see what he was up to until he was done. When he slid it back to her, there was a doodle of a little bear wearing bell bottoms, shivering little lines around his shocked face as he stood under a palm tree covered in snow. Lauren’s surprised giggle came out more like a squawk, and he smiled.
“I might have to research late seventies fashion. Maybe more disco than hippie? I have no idea.”
She added a wobbly Afro to the bear, trying to give it more of a late seventies feel.
“Perfect,” he said, and when she went to stand up, he pulled her down onto his lap. His arms were wrapped around her waist, his chin on her shoulder when he said, “See? I told you we’d work well together.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Why not? It’s so much fun.” He kissed the sensitive skin at the side of her neck, his lips brushing her earlobe. She felt the flutter of his breath against her cheek as he said, “Am I getting ahead of myself?”
Her own breath was caught in her throat. She was afraid to move, afraid to break whatever spell had wrapped around them at her kitchen table. When she finally spoke, she could only manage a single word.
“No.”
She was conscious of his bare thighs under her, the light dusting of hair, the way his muscles flexed as he drew her back against him. And then she was very conscious of the hard length of him against her ass, the layers of clothing between them doing little to disguise just how turned on he was. It made her feel powerful, knowing that she could do that to him with such little provocation.
“How about now?” he asked, his fingertips skimming the bare skin of her waist under her shirt. She shook her head wordlessly, sucking in a breath as his hands slid up farther, his thumbs rolling her nipples through her bra.
“Now?” he rasped into her ear.
She tilted her head back, her neck exposed as she arched against his touch. “I don’t—” she started, breaking off with a ragged sigh when he reached to cup her breasts fully under her bra, his hands warm and possessive. “I can’t follow what you’re asking me.”
His hands dropped to her rib cage, and immediately she wanted them back where they were, his palms rubbing the tender tips of her nipples. “I’m asking permission to touch you,” he said. “To show you how much I want you. Because, god, Lauren, I want you.”
She turned so she was more sideways on his lap, burying one hand in his hair as she looked down into his gray eyes. She loved his hair, how soft it was under her fingers. She loved the way he looked at her with his full attention, his gaze on her face like he was still cataloging every tiny detail, like he hadn’t yet run out of new things to notice.
“Only if I can show you, too,” she said. “It’s only fair.”
“Tit for tat,” he said solemnly, then immediately closed his eyes.
“Was that a joke? It was terrible.”
He cracked one eye open, biting his lip in an adorably self-deprecating expression that would make her forgive ten more equally cringeworthy puns. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m a little nervous. I joke when I get nervous.”