Page 67 of My Undead Heart

“You watch this?” My jaw drops more from the fact we’ve found a show we both like.

“Hell, yeah, I do. It’s in my top five.” He grabs a handful of chips from the bag in my lap. “Cue it up.”

“And you like it?” I’m still flabbergasted.

“Love it. You want to start from the beginning or watch last season?”

“Oh. My. God. I can’t believe we agree on something.” My eyes wide, he finally turns his chin to meet my stare. My mouth opens and closes twice before I get out the words. “I’m in shock.”

His chuckle holds as much humor as the corners of his eyes. “What’s not to like about this show?”

“Nothing. It’s cinematic perfection.” Shaking my head, I recover enough to scroll through the episodes, and hit play at the beginning of season six. “Wait a minute, you just watch it for the boob shots and sex, don’t you. I bet you’ve never even read the books.”

“Got me. It’s hard for me to read, Neanderthal that I am. Me man. Me eat food. Watch shows.”

“I knew it,” I gloat and his smile grows so wide I can’t help but mirror the movement. He laughs and I almost release one of those annoying giggles. Thank God I don’t because I’m certainly not the giggling type. Sinking further into the soft leather cushion, I ditch the bag of chips and prop my feet into the middle of the couch.

Sipping on wine, I enjoy everything about this moment. The comfort. The show. And yes, even that muscular man next to me on the couch whose laughter lights up my entire body each and every time his mouth opens. Whose tastes in television surprisingly cross over with mine. Whose finger trails soft circles along my calf while his gaze stays trained on the television screen. Even through my jeans his touch sends goosebumps over my skin.

I want that touch everywhere. All over me.

Damn it. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so screwed.