Perfect Regret (Bad Rep #2)(65)
Author: A. Meredith Walters

“Nooo,” I dragged out. “It’s fine. I just hope you don’t expect us to sit through another round of The Notebook,” I warned, closing the door behind Garrett who seemed awkward standing in my living room.

Jordan tossed a DVD case in my direction. “Sorry guys,” he said with an apologetic smile. Damned if it wasn’t The freaking Notebook. “She’s got me by the balls, what can I say?” he explained as Maysie wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss on his upturned mouth. He turned into her so that his lips were on hers and I was forced to look away. An eyeful of that would not help with the crazy nerves unleashing their fury in my stomach.

“I really hope you don’t have anything against trite romantic dramas full of enough clichés to make you want to rip your hair out,” I said to Garrett, who gave me a cute little half smile.

“I don’t care what we watch,” he told me, reaching out to take my hand. He laced his fingers between mine and the feel of his warm palm had me suppressing a shiver. This guy’s flipping palm had me turning myself inside out. How could I have been so blind to the way I felt about him?

I guess I wore idiocy well.

“Well that’s good, because Tweedle Dumb and Dumber over here are monopolizing the television with their crap,” I teased, earning me a glare from my best friend. Garrett and Jordan laughed, clearly in agreement about the movie selection.

Jordan and Maysie went into the kitchen to put their dinner on some plates, leaving Garrett and me alone in the living room. “We might as well get the good spots on the couch,” I said, perching in the corner of our beat up sofa.

Garrett pulled cartons of Chinese food out of the bag he carried and handed me my favorite sweet and sour chicken. I grabbed a pair of chop sticks and started eating. Not that I had much of an appetite given the full flight of birds that had taken up residence in my stomach.

I moved the throw pillows to the floor and Garrett sat down beside me. He leaned back, draping his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers lightly running along the sensitive skin of my nape.

“You’re not going to eat anything?” I asked him after forcing down a mouth full of chicken.

Garrett shook his head. “Not really hungry. Maybe later,” he said and I wondered if he was suffering from an attack of the killer stomach birds as well.

Eating as much as I was able, I finally put the mostly full carton of food down on the coffee table.

“How was your visit with Gracie?” he asked me.

“It was good. We’re good,” I said with more than a little relief.

“I’m glad,” he replied, not elaborating and simply leaving it at that basic truth.

“Me too,” I agreed. Our eyes met and I felt like I was suddenly living in one of those annoying romantic dramas Maysie was addicted to. Only this time I didn’t want to turn the channel in protest.

Hell no. This time I was enjoying every glorious, cheesy, and sentimental moment of it.

“Are you going to kiss me or just thinking about it?” I asked him a little breathlessly. The build up was killing me.

Garrett’s lips quirked up in a grin. The grin that lit his face up and made it impossible to look away. “You can’t let a guy do his thing can you? Always needing to take control,” he admonished, his hand gripping the nape of neck in his strong grip and giving me a hard tug towards him.

And then he kissed me. And I mean really kissed me. We’re talking the end of the world is tonight and you only have minutes to live kiss.

It was the sort of kiss that you felt from the tips of your fingers to the bottoms of your feet. There wasn’t an inch of my body that wasn’t affected by the feel of his mouth.

But before we could properly get into the way our lips melded and our tongues searched each other out, we were rudely interrupted.

“It’s about f**king time!” Jordan hollered from the kitchen and I could hear Maysie giggling uncontrollably. They were beaming at us as though we had just won the gold for Olympic tonsil hockey.

Garrett pulled back and rolled his eyes, confirming that here was a guy after my own heart. “We’ll start charging admission if you don’t stop gawking,” he called back, his eyes never leaving mine. He touched his forehead against mine, his breathing as labored as my own.

“Do you think we’d get too much shit if we left? I really need to be alone with you. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to hold you the way I want to.” His words melted me and I found myself nodding emphatically.

We both got to our feet and headed to the front door.

“Hey, where are you guys going? We’re just getting ready to start the movie. I made kettle corn!” Maysie shook the bowl in her hands and looked a little dejected.

Jordan wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head. “Let ‘em go, Mays. Besides, the things I want to do to you are for our eyes only,” he said, giving his girlfriend a lavicious grin.

Maysie smacked him but flushed in pleasure. I knew that look on her face too well. Meaning Garrett and I had about ten seconds to get out before clothes started to fly.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I said hurriedly, grabbing Garrett’s hand and pulling him out the door.

After getting into Garrett’s van I asked him, “Where to?”

He gave me a little smile. “I have an idea.”

He didn’t say anything more, instead turning on the stereo, the soft strains of an acoustic set filling the van. Garrett started tapping his hands against the steering wheel and singing along with the song. Once again, I was reminded of what an amazing voice he had.

“Why don’t you sing for your band? You’re pretty great,” I gushed a bit. I was surprised to see this laid back, unconcerned guy blush at the compliment.

“Yeah, I don’t do singing in front of big crowds,” he said in explanation.

“But you sang at that bar for open mic night,” I pestered.

“It’s more Cole’s thing than mine. I’m fine with playing the guitar.” He shot me a hot look. “Or I could sing just for you,” he suggested, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before turning his attention back to the darkened road.

“Like that song you wrote, the one you sang at the dive bar?” I asked. I had always wanted to ask him about that song Wondering if I was right in who it was about.

“So you figured it out then?” he asked, smirking.

“Figured what out?” I was going to play dumb on this one. I wanted to hear him say it.