Home Ice by Catherine Gayle

Stage. It was over, and we were on our way back to my house, but I honestly didn’t know if the play had been any good or not. The whole time we’d been there, I’d been so caught up in the sensation of Mattias’s arm draped casually over my shoulders and the heat of his body warming me down to my toes that I couldn’t pay attention to anything happening up on stage.
    In fact, even now as we made our way through Portland’s neighborhoods, I couldn’t make my brain cooperate. No matter how hard I tried to think like a rational adult, my recently acquired reverse-aging process was raging, and my hormones were in complete control. All I wanted to do was take him inside my house the second we got there and jump him. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been this out of control with lustful urges. Years. Maybe more than a decade.
    I couldn’t do a damn thing about it while he was still driving, though.
    My cell phone beeped with a text message. Probably Zoe. She was always good about checking in with me when the girls were with their father or otherwise not with me. I assumed it had something to do with her being the eldest.
    I dug around in my purse for my phone. It beeped again, and then a couple more times before I finally pulled it free. As soon as I wrapped my fingers around it, I unlocked the screen as I drew it out.
    Then I burst out snort-laughing at Zoe’s series of messages.
     
    Are you having a good time with Beefy? Getting kissy-faced yet? You should totally take him inside and make out with him on the couch like you’re a teenager. We promise we won’t walk in on you and ruin the fun, like you would do to us. We’re cooler than that.
     
    OMG. Beefy! Beefy. BEEFY.
     
    Stupid phone.
     
    B E R G Y. I meant Beefy.
     
    Gah! Autocorrect is killing me.
     
    Just make out with him, ’kay? You deserve a good make-out session. And pretend you never saw this. I’m going to go crawl under a rock and die now.
     
    Mattias angled his head toward me, attempting to hold back a laugh of his own. “That good? Do I want to know?”
    I shook my head and tried to stop laughing, but it was no use. Beefy . Every time I read it, my mind changed it to Beefcake , which was way too appropriate. Not to mention inappropriate. That wasn’t something anyone needed to know other than me, not even my girls. If I let it slip to one of them? They’d be chanting it every chance they got, and he would be bound to find out at some point. No chance I wanted him to see it because then I’d have to find a way to explain without putting my foot in my mouth, and that didn’t seem even remotely likely.
    “If it’s that funny, I need to know. Fair’s fair.”
    “Just a text from Zoe,” I forced out between snorts and guffaws.
    “Mm-hmm. Just a text. Your phone went off at least five times, and now you’re laughing so hard you can hardly breathe.”
    I needed to deflect him, and fast since he wasn’t giving up. “Autocorrect issues.”
    “Those are the best. Now you have to tell me.” He smiled, and my pulse kicked up a notch or two.
    “Just something that happened to her today at school,” I hedged, angling myself so he couldn’t accidentally read what was on my screen.
    He came to a red light and stopped the car, turning more fully to face me. Based on experience, the light at this intersection would be a long one, too. Crap.
    “If it’s something from school, why are you blushing so hard?”
    “I’m probably purple from laughing until I was out of breath.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “I think it’s about me.”
    “It’s not about you,” I lied, even though I knew I was a horrible liar. Always had been. I should have taken acting classes in school or something. Anything to help me put on a mask and convince him I was telling the truth.
    Not that I wanted to make a habit of lying, but it would be a good skill to have on occasion.
    “So it is about me, then.” He grinned, that sexy, panty-melting one again.