Page 80 of The Merger

My cheeks are rosy, and my lips are swollen from the make-out session Gannon and I just shared in the shower. It was sweet and slow—my back pinned to the shower wall as he lavished his attention on my mouth. It starkly contrasted to the hard and fast action in the bedroom. A total mindfuck in the best way.

I slip on his clothes, inhaling the scent of his cologne embedded into the fibers. The fabric is warm and soft. I could burrow in his bed, wrapped up in his shirt and boxers, and fall asleep completely sated.

Instead, I run my fingers through my towel-dried hair and patter into the bedroom.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Probably close to midnight.”

“Are you usually up this late?”

He shrugs. “I’m kind of a night owl, I guess. Not by choice. You?”

“I’m usually in bed by ten. Ten thirty at the latest.”

“Really?” He nods, leading me out of the room. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say.”

“What did you expect? I’m curious.”

We take the stairs to the main level. “I don’t know. You seem like someone who has a full life.”

I grin at him. “Believe it or not, I don’t need to be picked up from parties because I’ve been drinking. That was a fluke.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

I laugh, following him into the kitchen.

“How do you feel about a grilled cheese sandwich?” he asks, opening a refrigerator.

“At midnight? Is there anything better?”

I mosey around the expansive space as he gets to work behind me. It’s a sight to behold. A massive kitchen with white quartz counters and state-of-the-art appliances opens to a family area with seating for ten, maybe twelve people. I imagine huge family dinners with everyone around the island sharing cocktails and stories or watching a football game on the oversized television.

It's a beautiful but blank canvas. With a little effort, it could feel warm … like a home.

“What are you doing with mayonnaise?” I ask, hopping onto a barstool. “I thought we were having grilled cheeses.”

“Ah, you don’t know the secret.”

“To what?”

He opens the lid and sticks a knife inside the jar.

“Mayonnaise has a higher smoke point than butter,” he says. “You get a crispier, more golden-brown crust and a better outside texture.”

I laugh. “Wow. Okay.”

He looks up, smiling shyly, and my heart almost stops.

There’s so much more to this man than I ever imagined.

“Wow, what?” he asks.

“Are you an amateur at anything? Is there anything you don’t know or can’t do?”

He chuckles. “My brothers would say I’m not great at everything.”

“Oh, shut up.”