It Happened in L.A.: Ms Match / Shockingly Sensual / Playmates

“Crap.”

“What’s wrong?” She almost turned. Didn’t.

“I forgot to get water. Be back in a sec.”

His hand lifted and she breathed again. As the bed jiggled it occurred to her that drunkenness wasn’t her worst sin of the night. Being ridiculous had that honor. She was behaving like a child. A ninny. Like one of her sisters.

The light from the small fridge made her look. Boxers. Nice ones, though not the kind she’d been hoping for.

“You want one?” he asked.

“I’m good.”

He stood there, bare but for his undies, his head back, water bottle at his lips. He drank greedily, and even in the weird light she could see his Adam’s apple bob.

Okay, so she wasn’t being a complete moron. The guy was outside of her experience. The situation was incredibly intimate. Who wouldn’t feel intimidated?

Paul turned to face her, backlit to perfection. “That made all the difference. Are you sure you don’t want one?”

“I’ve got a bottle right here.” She tried to keep her gaze on his face, but her eyes refused to obey. They swept down his chest to his slim hips and below where they lingered until he closed the minifridge door.

He got back into bed with no hesitation this time. While she was busy worrying about the slightest touch, he not only made a good deal of noise, he moved until he was right next to her. If she rolled over, she’d be half on top of him.

“Would it be easier for you if I slept in the bathtub?” she asked.

“What? Why?”

She would have given him a withering glare, but it was dark and she was on her side facing away. “You seem to need a lot of room.”

“No, actually, I don’t. I just wanted to be close.”

“I haven’t changed my mind, Paul. Besides, you’re in no condition.”

“You’re wrong about that, but I’m very clear that you said no. I won’t press the issue.”

“So what’s with the close?”

“You smell nice. And I want to talk.”

She swallowed at the compliment, then let it go for what it was. “Talk about what?”

“We can start with your famous bar buddies.”

Gwen sighed. “Well then, move over.”

He did, then she sat up, holding the covers over her chest as she put her pillow behind her back.

Paul evidently thought that was a good move, and he followed suit. “Bar buddies?”

“It’s nothing. I go to a sports bar on Monday nights. They play sports trivia.”

“Are you good?” he asked.

“I’m great.”

Paul grunted.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She looked at him, more awake than she’d been a minute ago. “I won last year’s overall championship.”

“All sports?”

“All the major sports. It’s not just a local contest, either. It’s all over America and Canada. I happen to play at Bats and Balls, but there are hundreds of bars that participate.”

“Whoa. Okay, sorry I questioned your expertise, but it still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Which was…?”

“Bar buddies.”

“Men play there, too. Eve finds it suspicious that I hang out with men and we’re all just friends.”

He turned his head, although she couldn’t make out his expression. “Eve’s an idiot.”

“Yes. She is,” she said, quite definitely. Then she smiled, just because.

PAUL STRETCHED HIS NECK as he hunkered down in the bed. The dizziness, thank God, had eased and sleep was creeping up the blankets. Still, he didn’t want Gwen to stop talking. He wanted to fade out on her soft voice. He wished that was all he wanted.

They’d talked baseball, moved on to football then somehow got onto favorite pizza joints, but he wasn’t sure where she was now. He’d tuned out the words a while ago, concentrating on the sound. His thoughts had drifted as he’d been lulled by her low seductive tone. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake for more than a few minutes and dammit, he wanted to touch her. Just touch her.

She stopped talking and the quiet wasn’t half as nice, but then she shifted until they were lying side by side with a more than decent space between them.

Paul turned to face her. When she didn’t object, he inched a little closer. With the room so dark, he had no signals to tell him if she was cringing or amenable. The last thing he wanted was to freak her out. “You awake?” he whispered.

“Barely.”

“Would you hate it if I got closer?”

She was silent for several seconds, which gave him all the answer he needed.

“Never mind. Sweet dreams.” He closed his eyes, letting it go. It had been a foolish thought. He wasn’t a cuddler, never had been. He was pretty damn sure this weird feeling had more to do with alcohol than desire.

That feeling came over him—a twilight kind of buzz that precedes slumber. He welcomed the sensation.

When she shifted again he didn’t think anything of it. Not until her backside brushed his hip.