Reid’s firm body is pressed against mine when I wake up the next morning. The warmth of his skin against my own is decadent. What we did last night…I’ve never felt that way before. Didn’t even know it was possible a guy could get me over the edge that many times.

And now, here he is, with his arm wrapped around me like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like we haven’t spent the last month vacillating between lust and hate.

I wait a minute for the fear and doubt to come tumbling in, as it has every other time I’ve spent the night with a guy. But it doesn’t. Instead, I feel a sense of calm. Of rightness.

I turn over to face him, and the edges of his mouth tip up in a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he says.

“Morning.”

For a split second, I’m bombarded with a rush of nervousness that he’s about to say he regrets what we’ve done and bail on me.

“So…” I drum my fingers along the hard curve of one of his bicep muscles. Okay, I’m freaking out a little. Because, holy hell. Reid Morgan spent the night and looks way too sexy with bed head.

“So,” he parrots back, his lips curving into a smirk.

“Should we talk about what happened last night?” I swallow hard. Damn, give me a sash and a crown, because I am the queen of awkward right now.

He props himself up on an elbow. “If you’re asking if I regret anything we did, that’d be a resounding fuck no.” He grimaces slightly. “But with our non-fraternization policy at work, we’ve got to be careful…”

I nod and worry my bottom lip because he’s still not laid to ease my concern about this.

Reid reaches out and skims his thumb along my cheekbone, his gaze flitting back and forth between my eyes and watching the track of his caress. “And sorry to break it to you, Rainbow, but I’m not the one-night stand type.”

And just like that, my tension eases tenfold.

There’s no way I can restrain my relieved smile. “Yeah?” I ask softly.

“Yeah,” he responds gently, his blue eyes gazing at me tenderly.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Go out with me. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” I repeat dumbly. Maybe the great sex has made me stupid. All my brain cells died off from a power outage due to too many orgasms. It was worth it. But I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole getting along with Reid thing.

“Yeah, we both have off.”

“What…do you want to do?” I mean, I know where I want the after-party to be. But an honest to goodness date? What does that even look like for us?

“I don’t know. It’s pretty hard to upstage a bingo first date,” he says.

“I mean, what do we do now? I hate when things feel forced. That we’re expected to go on a date. Like, that’s so much pressure.”

“Then let’s not force it. We’ll make it an anti-date,” he offers.

“Anti-date…”

“Yeah, everything that you hate on a first date. We’ll do that. Get it out of the way.”

“Great. I won’t be ready until at least twenty minutes after you arrive.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Good, because I’ll be five minutes late.”

* * *

True to his word, Reid shows up tonight five minutes late to our anti-date. This somehow calms my nerves because now if I do anything embarrassing—which, duh, it’ll happen because it’s me—then at least I can blame it on tonight’s rules.

I open the door and find him in jeans and a faded T-shirt. The fabric of the short sleeves stretched to capacity around his biceps makes my mouth water. Everything about this man calls to me on every level.

He shoots me a grin and hands me a box of chocolates. “I’d usually make up a legit excuse as to why I’m late, but really I was standing in the hallway watching funny cat videos.”

I fight a smile and open the chocolate box and find that two of the compartments are empty.

He shrugs. “I got hungry on the way here.”

“I have a lot of catching up to do to hold up my end of the bargain for this anti-date.”

“Oh, I can keep this coming all night.” He shoots me a wicked grin.

“I know you can.” I arch a brow. I’m tempted to call off the date and just spend the rest of the evening in my bedroom, but I want to go out with him. To experience what a night with Reid looks like without the constant weight of our jobs hanging over us.

I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. Our lips meet, and his fingers find their way to my hair. His tongue teases mine, and I melt into his touch, ready to forget our plans.

He pulls away so quickly it leaves me breathless. When I open my eyes, his are wild. “Nope. If I keep doing that, we’re not making it out of the apartment,” he says.

“So where are you taking me?” I ask.

“A fine dining establishment.” He wraps his arm around me, and we head out of the apartment.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulls into the Taco Bell parking lot, and my head hits the headrest as I cackle.

“Fine dining, huh?”

“Only the best for you, Rainbow.”

“You know, I really do love their bean burritos.”

We make our way into the restaurant and walk up to the register. Reid slides an arm around my waist, and I lean into him, inhaling the scent of his body wash. I like this. Doing something as mundane as ordering fast food, but it feels…normal. As if we should be touching all the time.

A guy in his early twenties with a black headset squishing his red curly hair greets us. “Welcome to Taco Bell, what can I get you?”

“A Mondo burrito for this one”—he points at me— “who can pack it away, let me tell you,” he says.

The cashier’s eyes go wide.

“Oh, you’re so cute. That’ll be two burritos and an empanada.” I smack him on the chest. “And this one. Oh, get some beans in him and phew.” I wrinkle my nose in distaste, waving my hand in front of my face for emphasis, then smile sweetly at Reid.

Reid just shakes his head, clearly amused. “And a number two for me.” He reaches for his wallet in his back pocket and then says loudly, “Oh, whoops, Callie. Looks like I forgot my wallet. Dinner’s on you.”

I can’t help it now. I collapse into a fit of giggles. The cashier looks at us like we’ve lost our minds. And maybe we have, but this is fun. Screwing up on purpose.

I shell out the few bucks for our food. We get our drinks, then find a table to sit at until our order number is called.

I run my finger along the plastic tabletop. “I have to say, this is the most original date I’ve ever been on.”

“But does it top bingo with senior citizens?”

“Absolutely not.” I raise my soda cup and toast. “To bingo and anti-dates.”

“To many more rounds of bingo.” He raises his brow and clinks my cup with his. The implied meaning sends a rush of heat to the space between my thighs. To what we did last night.

The cashier calls our number and Reid grabs the tray, a few hot sauce packets, and napkins, and then makes his way back to the table. I watch him the entire way.

Some guys square their shoulders when they walk, and others hunch their backs. Reid, though, has pure swagger. His body practically prowls toward me, and I can’t tear my gaze away from his broad shoulders—the same shoulders my legs hung over when he kissed between my thighs.

Sweet baby Jesus in a manger, I’m not going to make it ten more minutes if I continue chugging along on that train of thought.

I unwrap my burrito and take a bite. “When I was in high school, I loved coming here. Mel used to drive me before I got my license, and we’d come eat here every day.”

If my parents had known, they would’ve been appalled. They didn’t eat at places like this; instead, they opted for establishments that cost fifty bucks a plate.

“I was more a Burger King fan myself,” he admits. “I didn’t eat out much because my grandma liked to pack my lunches.”

“Please tell me she packed you little notes.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Damn straight, she did. Those were the best.”

Somehow, it’s hard to picture a smaller Reid. One who was innocent and ate fruit cups and Lunchables. It’s endearing.

“Okay, you have to give me more. What were you like in high school?” I ask, taking a bite of my burrito.

He shrugs. “Pretty much the same as I am now. Except I used to be a wide receiver for my high school football team. Senior year, I had a mullet Grayson nicknamed Jo Bob.”

“Pics or it didn’t happen.”

Reid pulls out his phone and swipes through it until he lands on an old Facebook photo Grayson had tagged him in. Wearing a football uniform, Reid’s holding his helmet under one arm with his other draped around his grandma’s shoulders.

And right on top of his head is a glorious, sweaty mullet.

“Oh my God, that is terrible.”

“It might beat out your rainbow clown hair.”

“It definitely does.” We’re both done with our food, but we don’t make a move to leave.