Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“You almost just fell down the stairs and broke your neck,” he points out.
I stare up into his brown eyes—eyes made of cold hard steel.
“I barely tripped.”
“Let go of the vacuum,” he says, holding my gaze.
“Stop being so bossy.”
He licks his bottom lip to stifle a smile and turns away, looking at his friends for backup.
“Is this getting weird for anyone else?” Leanna asks jokingly.
“What’s up with you two?” Trey asks.
Anthony just stands there smiling.
“I’m trying to help her out,” Ben says.
“Maybe she just doesn’t like you,” Anthony says, starting to walk up the stairs. “I’ll help you with your stuff, Raelynn.”
Ben flays Anthony alive with just one look.
Anthony stops dead in his tracks, laughs, and holds up his hands in innocence. “Or…not. Damn, cool it with the evil glares. You want to carry the damn vacuum, be my guest.”
“No one is carrying the vacuum except for me,” I point out haughtily.
At this point, I might as well be stomping my feet with how childish I’m being. I don’t know why I’m protesting so much except that it seems absolutely imperative to keep Ben from getting his way. I’d bet he always gets exactly what he wants. From morning till night the world bends for this man, and I refuse to join in.
Ben has his own plans though.
Finally having had enough of me, he turns back, steps toward me, and scoops me up with one arm, taking my vacuum in his other hand, then carries me down the stairs like I’m nothing more than pillow fluff.
“What a—”
“Nice guy,” he finishes for me as he continues carrying me to the car. I might as well be on an amusement park ride. My feet dangle a mile in the air as his strong arm holds me tightly against him.
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
He’s still sweaty from practice and I (don’t) hate it. I’m half tempted to turn my head, press my nose to his throat, and inhale.
Just that thought makes a new wave of annoyance wash over me. How dare he hijack my good sense?
“Are you done yet?” I press. “Being a brute? You can put me down now. Your friends have seen how strong and mighty you are.”
“Just for that, I think I’ll keep hold of you.”
“I’ll start kicking and screaming soon.”
He laughs then and finally sets me down on my feet right beside the driver’s side door, blocking me from the others. He sets my things down next to me then stands to his full height to assess me.
I look right back at him, not saying a word. If he wants a staring contest, I’ll give him one.
He tips his head to the side, his lips slowly unfurling into a smile.
“Thank you, Ben, for helping me with my stuff,” he says teasingly before switching back to his normal tone. “Oh, no problem, little Birdie. Any time.”
“You think I’m going to thank you for that display of male chauvinism?” I reach out and poke him in the chest. “God. You just think so much of yourself, don’t you? You know what’s funny? At the diner that second time I saw you, I was under the impression that you might be sorta shy and sweet.”
His expression sobers, his brown eyes narrowing down on the finger that touches his chest. “I can be shy.”
But not sweet.
That’s what he’s hinting at. I drop my hand as a weird trickle of awareness suddenly makes the air around us feel charged. I look away from him first, breaking the spell and losing the unofficial war we’ve been waging.
He steps toward me again, invading my space ever so slightly. “You want sweet?”
I practically gulp.
What does it matter what I want? What are we doing here? Flirting? Teasing? Doesn’t he care that his friends are all staring at us?
No. He doesn’t.
His confidence radiates off him like a plume of smoke.
I feel him studying my profile, willing me to turn and meet his gaze. I’m too scared to do it. Too scared to see what he’s trying to show me.
My chest rises and falls as I fist my hands by my sides, trying to endure this moment without my cheeks turning even more red, and then, out of nowhere, he steps back.
“Have a good night, Birdie.”
Flustered, I whip my attention back to him just as he turns and walks away. I feel…bereft. Disappointed in my own cowardice.
Come back, I want to say. Keep playing with me.
Instead, I quickly pack up my car, wave goodbye to Leanna, and hurriedly drive away.
The next day is my scheduled day off from the diner, the one day off I get every week. I should be enjoying the fact that I get to sleep in for once, sinking down into my blankets, closing my eyes and forgetting my troubles. What I’m actually doing is staring up at the ceiling, trying to reconstruct Ben’s face in my mind. I have all the important details down: the sun-kissed tan skin, the taunting brown eyes, the bold, cocky mouth. Last night before I drifted off to sleep, I touched myself and got off thinking about him, and even now, there’s residual guilt. It feels like I’m not allowed to want him even in secret. It’s as if even fantasizing about him is off limits.