Page 76 of Sweet Distraction

I blink, startled. Breathless.

He sees it—the hurt—the flicker of doubt behind my eyes.

Like I’m not enough.

Like I’m not what he wants.

But then he smiles. Slow. Soft.

“Don’t read into it,” he murmurs as he tugs on my bottom lip. “Let’s not pretend to be something we’re not.”

His thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“Just enjoy the moment,” he says before slipping his tongue between my lips and deepening the kiss. “The anticipation.”

And it makes me wonder. Is Rocket trying not to sleep with me? To keep this light?

Not necessarily because he doesn’t want me . . . but so he doesn’t need me?

Right now, I’m not sure which is more dangerous.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Willow

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I groan and snuggle into the warmth of the bed beneath me. My sheets smell like Rocket. Somewhere in my fogged brain, I both recognize his scent and realize it’s because his cologne rubbed off on me when we kissed last night.

I’m definitely not complaining about that.

Just as I doze back off, it happens again. Tap. Tap. Tap. Persistent. Soft but determined.

“Poppy . . .” I whisper, all but begging for a few more minutes of sleep.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then I hear it. A giggle that’s high-pitched and amused.

My brain struggles to wake, but thoughts start to connect, one after another. They start to make sense.

The bed is warm beneath me. Really warm. Too warm.

Wait. It’s not the bed. It’s the couch.

Rocket’s couch.

And there’s a heartbeat under my cheek.

My eyes blink open, and I come face to face with a black T-shirt and the faint scent of cedar and citrus and sin.

Sin?

I lift my head. Oh. Oh. Oooh!

I’m not just curled up on the couch. I’m curled up on Rocket.

Like, on top of him.