MY EYES FLICKED OPEN BUT the rest of my body stilled. Heat radiated against my back, and a heavy arm rested on my side.
Oh my God, I’m in Bishop’s bed. I repeat— In. Bishop’s. Bed.
I scanned the room for a clock but saw nothing that could give me a hint as to the time. Last night, we’d eaten stir-fry off of mismatched plates and talked about my list until I could barely keep my eyes open. At one point, I was a little concerned I’d fall asleep midsentence and face-plant in my food.
I don’t have a problem with carrying you home, Bishop had started to say, but I didn’t remember anything after that.
He must have tucked me into his bed and called it a night.
I’m in Bishop’s bed.
If I had to guess whether Bishop made a habit of letting women spend the night, my answer would be an unequivocal no.
So, what was this?
He shifted, and a thick, hard ridge pressed into the crack of my ass.
Oh my God. His morning wood felt just as big as I remembered from last night.
“Mornin’.” Bishop’s voice was rough from sleep, and sounded even more delicious than it did normally.
“Good morning,” I replied before clamping my mouth shut. I had to have horrible morning breath.
“You passed out after dinner last night. I decided you were sleeping in my bed.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but shut it again.
“You okay?”
My response was a nod.
Bishop’s eyes clouded with confusion for a beat before clearing. “Ah, I’m killing you with my breath.” He picked his arm up and rolled to the side. “Sorry ’bout that.”
I didn’t speak until he was firmly out of my bad-breath trajectory. “Not you, me. Do you have an extra toothbrush?”
All thoughts of brushing my teeth died when he pulled an elastic from his hair. The golden-brown waves fell around his shoulders, and he shook them out.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
Everything in me screamed to throw myself at him and climb him like a tree. That was the guy who’d given me the best non-self-induced orgasms of my life. That was the guy who said he’d help me check the items off my list. That was the guy who’d spooned me last night.
“You’re beautiful.” My voice was quiet, almost reverent.
Bishop froze. “What?”
“You’re beautiful. I just thought you should know.”
“Guys aren’t beautiful, cupcake.”
“That’s not true, because some definitely are. You’re one of them.”
He shook his head. “Goofball. You want to shower here again? I did throw your clothes in the wash before I climbed in bed. They shouldn’t take too long to dry. I’ll run down and grab donuts and coffee, and you can wait up here.”
“You’re . . . not going to tell Fabienne I spent the night, are you?”
A hard mask slipped over his features. “Why would I tell her?”
“I don’t know. I just . . . She’s my new boss and I’m still working on making a good impression. I don’t want her to think I took the job just so I would see you. Never mind. I’m not making any sense. Forget I said anything.”
Confusion flashed in his expression before it softened. “I wouldn’t say anything to your boss you didn’t want me to say. For the record, Fabienne wouldn’t care about anything other than the fact that I’ll be coming into the shop even more now, anyway.”
Because he wants to see me?
The implication hung there, but I didn’t ask to confirm.
Bishop didn’t stick around to offer a confirmation either. He turned and walked toward the dresser, and it finally dawned on me that he was wearing boxer briefs.
But . . . “You don’t wear underwear normally.”
He swung his head around to look at me. “Is that right?”
“Well, at least not the night you came in the pool, or last night.”
His gaze never left mine. “You making a study of my habits?”
I shrugged. “Not on purpose.”
He winked. “Don’t worry, cupcake. I remember every damn thing I learn about you too.”
Mardi Gras was a blur of lattes, cappuccinos, double and quadruple shots of espresso, and thousands of donuts. Basically, a second-day trial by fire. Thankfully, Voodoo Ink was closing early tonight, and so was Your Favorite Hole.
Every time the door chimed, my gaze cut to it, wondering if Bishop would finally come in. Fabienne had mentioned offhand that he’d been in for his morning fix, which meant if he stayed with his routine, he’d also be coming in for his afternoon caffeine pick-me-up.
For the first time in my life, I was going to ask a guy out. Did it matter that we’d already technically spent the night together? No. That actually made it harder and more awkward in my opinion.
Another rush of costumed people filled the shop. Orders for donuts were shouted to Fabienne and Ellie, and they marked coffee orders on cups and lined them up near me. If things got too backed up, Fabienne would jump in and help, but I was busting my butt to keep up by making three drinks at a time.
My anxiety rose with each hour that slipped by without him making an appearance. I wanted to do this in person, not via text. My eyes scanned the next cup in line and I froze.
Quadruple-shot non-fat latte with cinnamon on top.
Delilah’s regular.
My gaze immediately jumped to customers waiting in front of the espresso bar, and I found him watching me. His lips curved just the slightest bit, and mine did the same.
“Hi.” My tone was quiet but cheerful as I refilled portafilters and snapped them into place to make the espresso. He already held his tall coffee, so I assumed he was just waiting for Delilah’s.
He nodded and watched me make the drink. I forced a shot of confidence into my veins so I didn’t screw it up somehow.
When I was finished sprinkling on the cinnamon, I snapped the lid on top and slid it across the counter.
With a deep breath, I went for it. “So, I was thinking maybe tonight you might want to, if you weren’t already busy—”
He interrupted my already botched attempt at asking him out. “I’ll be here at seven to walk you home.”
My hopes plummeted because I didn’t want to go home while Mardi Gras raged on outside my windows. This entire town was celebrating tonight, and I wanted to be part of it.
“But—”
“You’re gonna shower and change into a dress, and then we’re gonna work on your list tonight.”
My protests died on my lips, and I smiled.
“We are?”
He nodded.
“And that requires me wearing a dress?”
The barely there smile widened infinitesimally and his eyes flashed with heat. “That’s for me. Skip the panties. I’ll see you at seven.”
He wrapped a big hand around Delilah’s coffee cup before giving me a chin lift and walking out of the crowded shop with a bag of donuts under his arm.
Seven o’clock. Bishop was going to walk me home, and I was going to shower and change into a dress and we were going to work on my list.
And I wasn’t going to be wearing any panties.
Holy. Shit.