Page 17 of Just George

“Yes, sir,” I panted.

Kurt shrugged. “Other people might get jealous.”

“That’s right,” the man agreed, turning back to me, gesturing at Kurt. “You got a hot guy for me too?”

“I only have the one,” I told him.

“Well then, if you don’t want to have to share, wait until you’re out of here.”

“I don’t share,” I replied flatly.

“Then keep it in your pants.”

“Understood,” I said, scowling at Kurt, who lost it.

Between the evening we’d just had and the absurdity of the situation—we were grownups, for God’s sake—the release, in the form of wheezing laughter, made sense.

“Is he okay?” the nurse asked me.

“Oh yeah, this is totally normal.”

The exchange only made Kurt laugh that much harder.

At the burger place, he was horrified.

“Please don’t eat that,” he pleaded with me, the cheese and bacon, mustard, ketchup, and jalapenos more than he could handle. I’d skipped the onions I normally piled on because, as I told him, I wanted to kiss him more than I wanted them. “And I’m touched, but that’s going to make you sick,” he assured me.

“It’s actually gonna do the opposite,” I said, cackling as I dug in.

“Look at the grease coming off that thing,” he said, shaking his head. “And you needed chili cheese fries too?”

I nodded because I didn’t want to talk with my mouth full.

“Double cheeseburger,” he commented, leaning his chin on the back of his hand as he turned his head sideways, staring at me. “At one in the morning. Holy crap.”

I bumped his knee with mine since we were sitting together, outside, at one of the wooden picnic tables. Instantly his hand was on my thigh.

“How did you know that I sleep with a lot of people?” I asked as he wiped the corner of my mouth with a napkin.

“Well,” he began, smiling, “you’re gorgeous, so I’m sure lots of folks follow you home, but you’re gone a lot, and I don’t see you wanting any long-term anything, so I can only imagine a whole parade of people have been in your bed.”

“A parade?” I grumbled between bites.

“Conga line?” he offered.

“Listen, I––”

“I would like to be in your bed one night soon when we’re sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” I groused at him. “You should stay with me and get in my bed now.”

He cupped my face in his hand, and how he was looking at me, like I was his and adorable, normally scared the shit out of me and had me gasping for air, but everything about him settled all the rabbit in me. Running didn’t even enter my mind. I liked him near me. I wanted him closer, all over me, and most of all, I wanted to be buried inside of him.

“Shit,” I growled, and he chuckled as I put down my burger, wiped my hands, and then turned on the bench so I was facing him. “What if you take me home and decide I’m too much trouble?”

“Oh, I already know you’re too much trouble,” he confirmed matter-of-factly. “But I don’t plan to marry you—at least not yet—and the good with you clearly outweighs the annoyance factor of having you around.”

“The what factor?”