I grinned, biting into my own.

“It’s perfect that you cook because I don’t. That’ll come in handy if—” She stopped herself and averted her eyes nervously before gulping some of her margarita.

“Come in handy if what?” I asked.

“Let’s watch the movie. You’ll be lost if you miss this part at the beginning.”

I let her off the hook for now. She was thinking if we ended up as a couple, like something long-term, then we would fit. We’d match. And we did. We so did.

I was an introvert. She was the opposite, dragging me out of my workshop, even when I didn’t want to. I was too broody and introspective. She was light and funny and kind and so fucking gorgeous. I was caged away in my own little world, and she opened my eyes to so much more. She made me think, made me smile, made me laugh, made me want like I’d never wanted anything in my whole goddamn life.

I tried not to get overwhelmed with the emotions that swamped me every time we were in the same room, but it was hard. And now, here she was, sitting in my apartment, eating my food, lying on my floor. It was enough to make my dick rock-hard. That dominant part of me taking hold.

Yeah, I’m here.

Yeah, him. He wanted her in every possible way. We both did, truth be told. Patience, I told myself.

After her third meat pie, which made me unbelievably happy for some insane reason, she put her plate aside and settled onto the pillows. I moved the tray of food onto the coffee table behind us, stretched out and bent one arm behind my head, then pulled her into me with the other. She cuddled against my chest, her slender arm draped across my waist. For a while I was distracted by the perfection of how she felt next to me, then the movie sucked me in.

Evie was the first to start our ongoing commentary that had happened during our first Star Wars marathon.

“Don’t judge, but all of Kylo Ren’s angry stomping is hot.”

“You find a man with anger issues hot?”

“No!” She slapped me over the ribcage. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She laughed, snuggling closer. “There’s just something about that dominant, clomping walk that does it for me.”

“Soooo, you’d find Frankenstein hot? Because it’s very similar.”

“Frankenstein doesn’t look like Kylo Ren.”

“So it’s only okay to have anger issues if you’re good-looking.”

“That’s not what I mean.” She tapped me again with those long, delicate fingers. “And the way he looks at Rey. Jeesh.”

I squeezed her hip where my hand draped lazily. Naturally. This was so…easy. I couldn’t quite get over it. The women I’d dated in the past, even the relationships I’d let go on for too long before breaking them off, had never felt like this. Everything was work. Or a debate that felt like arguing, disagreeing—not playing, like it did with Evie. Debating with Evie felt like a game, one I never wanted to end.

“You do realize he’s the villain,” I commented.

She reached behind her for a handful of popcorn, which she pooled into a little pile on my stomach and ate one piece at a time. Her fingers plucked a piece and pop into her mouth, over and over. I hoped she didn’t notice the raging hard-on she was giving me from eating popcorn served on my abdomen.

“Not…necessarily.”

“Evie, he’s conspiring with that Snoke guy.”

“True. But—”

“And they just blew up that planet for funsies.”

“They’re the Empire.” She peered up at me and stuffed a piece of popcorn in my mouth, her fingers brushing my lips. “That’s what they do. Blow up planets.”

“Exactly.” I chewed, trying to ignore my body’s reaction to her innocent playfulness. “He’s the villain.”

“Right now he is.”

Suddenly, I rolled over on top of her, the few popcorn kernels left rolling off and squishing between us. “Did you just spoil the next movie for me? I can’t believe you did that.”

“I didn’t!” she cried, laughter in her eyes.

“You did, you little witch.”

“Well, I am a little witch. But I didn’t spoil anything!”

“You just implied he’s not a villain in the next movie.”

“I did not. Besides, he’s still a villain in The Last Jedi.”

“See, you admit that I’m right. He’s the villain.”

“Regardless”—she shrugged—“he’s still hot.”

I quirked a brow. “Do I need to start throwing temper tantrums, stomping around my workshop, and throwing shit to get you hot and bothered?”

She shook her head and bit her lip. “You don’t have to do a thing.” Her dark green eyes zoned in on my mouth. “You just have to breathe and I’m…” Her lips went slack, half open.

Dipping my head so I could lick her bottom lip—buttery and sweet at the same time—I whispered, “You’re what?”

She wouldn’t answer. Just stared at me. Intently. I slid my lips up her jaw. “You’re what?” I nipped with my teeth. “Turned on?” No answer, so I slid lower, licking a trail down to her collarbone. “Aroused?” Still nothing but heavier breathing. I gave some attention to the hollow of her throat and the delicate indentions of her clavicle with my lips and tongue. “Because if you’re half as hot as I get just when you walk into a room, then I’m a happy man.”

Her fingers combed through my hair then slipped to the nape of my neck. “Then you should be a totally, blissed-out, high-as-a-kite happy man.”

I crushed my mouth to hers, angling so I could go deep, needing to taste, to devour, to show her what she meant to me. Because, holy fuck, she meant so much to me. How did this happen? How did it go from a brief, casual friendship to me not being able to function without her near me? To wanting to rip her clothes off and fuck us both into oblivion.

Now we’re talking.

As much as I wanted that, I didn’t want to push what was happening here. I didn’t want casual sex or for her to think it was. Because there was nothing casual about the way I felt for her. So I restrained from doing what I wanted, from dipping my hand into her jeans, feeling how wet she was for me, stripping and sliding between those fine fucking legs.

I really, really hate you sometimes.

Besides, I had something important to talk to her about tonight, and that would probably dampen the mood. Whenever I got the guts to bring it up.

Dramatic music and screams pulled me out of my kiss-hazed stupor. I rolled to the side to see what was happening on the screen.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I gaped. “I can’t believe he just did that.”

“I know. Isn’t it terrible?”

I glared down at her. “How can you think he’s hot? Kylo Ren is irredeemable after that move.”

“Maybe it needed to happen for the plot and proper character motivations for later on. Maybe he’ll turn good in the end.” Her eyes glimmered with humor and something else, maybe the lingerings of lust I’d put there.

“Oh, I see. You’re one of those who has no problem torturing and killing off main characters for a dramatic finish.”

“Dramatic finishes are epic. Have you seen any of Game of Thrones? Take the Red Wedding episode, for example. Wait, why am I even asking that? Okay, that’s next up on our agenda. I have so much to say about—”

“Shh.” I wrapped my hand around her waist and pulled her tighter against me. “Lightsaber battle.”

She snuggled closer. “I love that you love lightsaber battles,” she whispered. “Now that is hot.”

I slipped my hand under her shirt, but kept it at her waist, brushing my thumb back and forth over silky skin. Then we watched the rest of the movie in contented silence. I found myself digging my fingers into her waist as Rey marched up the island and handed over the lightsaber to—

“No. Fucking. Way!”

“Yes!” Evie popped up and clapped her hands together like a giddy girl. “Can you believe it!”

“Chills, man.” The soundtrack started with the rolling credits as I shook my head in awe. “That was…wow.”

“Right?”

“To be honest, I think I have new inspiration for my art.”

“No way!”

“There are dozens of scenes that would make a terrific, dramatic sculpture.”

She shook her head, biting her lip, an expression of elated disbelief lighting her face. She leaned over and picked up her margarita. “I’m excited it inspired you.” Then she swigged the rest of it down.

“What can I say? You’ve created a monster.”

“I knew you were cool.” She tossed a piece of popcorn up and caught it in her mouth, then laughed at my ogling. Because I definitely was. Everything she did captivated me. She sobered, tilting her head the way she did sometimes. “You know you really are an amazing artist.”

I sucked in a deep breath then took the plunge. “So are you.”

Her brow puckered as she sipped her drink, then set it down. “What do you mean?”

“The comics you’re drawing are absolutely amazing.”

She froze, eyes wide, and fixed on me. But didn’t respond.

“You obviously have a gift.”

“What…when did you see them?” Her chest rose and fell quickly.

“In your room. I saw the sketches in your drawer. And on your tablet.”

“You opened my tablet!” Her gaze was angry, flinty. “Do you always go snooping in other people’s private stuff?”

“Never. And I probably shouldn’t have done it. But I also couldn’t stop myself, and I’m glad I did.”

She curled up with her knees to her chin, glaring at me over the top. Guarding herself. “Well, this isn’t a side of you I knew existed.”

“You’re mad because I saw something you’ve been hiding, but Evie, you shouldn’t be hiding it. Are you hearing me?”