fake billionaire, damaged boyfriend 7

Izzy...

Offering a softer look, he moves the skillet away from the hot stove and comes beside me. His hand brushes my cheek, feeling my warmth, and I hold my breath while I picture him leaning in another inch and kissing me again.

"Are you okay, Kitten? That gin hits hard, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does. That second drink you got me was nice, though."

"A little sweetness never hurts the edge of alcohol. If you need to go lay down, I have a spare bed I can put out for the night."

"No, you don't need to set out a bed for me, I'm—"

"I didn't say that," he cuts in. "You can go lay down in my bed, and I'll take the spare. Hell, I have so much work to do, I could easily sleep on the couch for a few hours and stay up working."

"I can't impose."

"Do you have a car?"

"No," I admit, my mother's old truck is not up and running from the mechanic shop in Oregon. "I can get a cab, though. I'm not drunk, I promise."