Page 33 of Relationship Goals

I need to keep my head in the game. I have to stay focused on the fact that I want this film to do well, I want that damned Oscar, and that getting entangled with a man like Luke Wolfe would only distract me from those goals.

“You going to let me in?” he asks.

I blink up at him.

Shit. I’ve been standing at the front door of my house, staring up at him while I think about exactly how I cannot pursue what is likely to be forest-fire-level hot sex with him.

“Yep, just wanted to make sure you knew the password before I let you in.” What the hell did I just say?

The smallest of smiles turns the corners of his lips up. “Is that right?” he asks.

“Yep.” In for a penny, in for a pound. Or whatever the saying is. “So what’s it gonna be?” I bluff.

“May I come in?” he asks.

“Nailed it,” I manage, rolling my eyes at my stupid self as I unlock the front door. “You’re going to have to tell me who slipped up and let you have the password to my house, though. I’ll have to interrogate my security team and find the mole.”

“I’ll make it easy for you. The mole is called manners, and I managed to remember some of mine.”

“Aha! I’ll be speaking to your mother, then,” I quip, setting my purse down on the slender front entry table.

He doesn’t answer, though, and when I glance over my shoulder at him, he’s looking at me with an odd expression.

Great. “Did I put my foot in my mouth?” I ask, feeling shitty. “I’msorry. I know family can be a sore subject. Probably not the best first-date topic.” I’m blabbing, and I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the words to stop.

“Food,” he says gruffly, holding out the bag and stomping off to the kitchen area like he’s intimately familiar with the layout of my house.

It’s strange how good that feels. How normal. I mean, yes, I showed him around earlier, but…he feelsrighthere.

That or I’m horny as heck and that one glass of wine and one single kiss short-circuited all my brain cells.

Great. Now I’m thinking about that kiss again.

I pull my phone from my back pocket, then hook a finger through the strap of my heels and sigh in relief at having bare feet.

“You coming, Abigail?” he calls.

“Just taking my clothes off!” I yell back. I smack my hand into my forehead, because what the fuck did I just say? “My SHOES!” I say even louder. “Taking myshoesoff.”

When I look up after nudging them into some semblance of organization, embarrassment beating through me, Luke’s standing in the opening of the kitchen, watching me with that insanely intense expression.

“You didn’t miss anything,” I chirp at him, then clear my throat. “I misspoke.”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at me, a hungry look in his eyes.

“Food,” I say, pointing limply behind him. “Let’s eat.” I wedge myself past him and the wall, my hip brushing against him.

“I hope you like dessert,” he all but growls. “I’m starving.”

His hand lands on the small of my back, and heat pulses through me at the light touch, at the possessiveness of it.

Dessert. Do I have dessert? My mind’s racing, my body tight and wound up from the barest suggestion of his palm on my back.

“I think we have plenty of food,” I squeak out. I am making an utter fool of myself. I need to get it the hell together. “But I might have something sweet in the freezer.”

“They packed up dessert for us.” His face is quizzical.

I bark out a harsh laugh. “Right, right, I forgot. Sorry. Someone scrambled my brain with their kiss.”