"Yup," he said smiling, tossing his keys on the hook by the door. "I figured we could hang out and do whatever-- I'm well provisioned with movies, popcorn, menus from every delivery place in town. We could totally--"
And suddenly, Nessie was attacking him, her lips soft and open, and it didn't take any more invitation than that for Drew to start kissing her back. She always tasted good and the way her body seemed to run a few degrees hot was kind of a turn-on, too. Even more of a turn on was the image she sent flashing through his mind.
"Whoa." He pulled back a bit to breathe. "I didn't know you owned a--"
The realization hit him, and Drew, the writer, was suddenly speechless. Nessie's mind, for once, had gone to the place that he as a young man usually lived permanently.
"You know, that wasn't my original idea. If you're not comfortable or anything, we can just hang out." It was the truth, and unbeknownst to Drew, it was the only reason that Edward Cullen hadn't murdered him on their doorstep. "But if you are..."