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“I can hear you thinking about that one word and reading more into it than I intended. You look great.” Once inside, he presses the button for the lobby and adds, “You always do.”
Ethan laughs quietly, giving me an adoring look. “Aw, hon, can you imagine thirty years of this?”
“I can appreciate my body in a bikini and still want to set fire to the patriarchy.”
She is very… hmm, 90210. And you seem more… hmm, Big Bang Theory.”
He doesn’t break eye contact. Not even for a breath. “It’s so exhausting pretending to hate you.”
He raises a brow and tilts his head toward the hallway I’m sure he’s guessed leads to my bedroom. I get it—in a movie we would be crashing against the wall, passionately pinballing our way down the hall toward the bed because we missed each other so much after an hour apart, but in truth, that airport run-in was stressful as hell, I am starving, and this takeout smells amazing.
