My cheeks go up in flames. Exactly how long was he listening? “So, in review, twenty minutes at 350 degrees. Gotta go. Bye!” I hang up on Gemma mercilessly.
Austin’s brows go up. “Who was that?”
“Gemma.” I feel the sudden need to defend my strange choice of coverup for our conversation. I’m not exactly a quick thinker. “She’s baking cookies.”
“Isn’t it like one in the morning there?” He’s wearing a tank top and exercise shorts, his forehead glistening the slightest bit, like he just went for a jog.
“She’s a night owl.” She’s not. In fact, her schedule is pretty regimented. And she’s not a great baker, either.
“A night owl who loves burned cookies, apparently. Twenty minutes in the oven? Or are you guys the type of weirdos who like their cookies crispy?”
I shove my phone in the back pocket of my overalls. “Is there something you need? You almost made me drop my phone.”
He smiles. “I figure it’s best to surprise you whenever I have the chance. In case you have the hiccups, you know?”
“Real thoughtful.” I say that instead ofI prefer the last surprise. Heavily prefer.
He glances around, then slips into the space between the buses to face me. His jog was short enough that he still smells amazing. Or maybe he’s superhuman and his sweat glands secrete cologne.
He smiles. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, annoyed when it comes out breathless.Hewent on a jog, not me, for the love of all that’s holy. I try to back up, but given the 30,000-pound bus behind me, I’m not going anywhere.
My hands are weirdly hovering between us, grazing his shirt. I hesitate for a second before lowering them to my sides.
He watches their progress with a hint of a smile.
Get it together, Mia. “Don’t want to accidentally tear your shirt. They seem really fragile.”
“Or you were really into that kiss yesterday.”
I roll my eyes. “I barely touched your shirt. Aren’t you worried they’ll disintegrate if it gets too hot or if someone brushes against you?”
He just smiles at me, and I’m so out of my league here.
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Austin says. “For your information”—he reaches to the buckle on my overalls and fiddles with it. I can no longer breathe—“those shirts were made specially for the tour. Theydorip easily, but concerts are the only time I wear them.”
I screw my face into a sympathetic grimace. “Couldn’t rip off a normal shirt?”
“Got to save my strength for the vocals.”
“Uh-huh.” This is totally normal, talking to someone whose face is four inches from yours. They say cultures in warmer climates are comfortable at closer social distances. Apparently, we’re embracing the culture of the sun.
“So,” he says, still fiddling with my overalls, “I’ve been thinking about yesterday. Like, a lot.”
“Okay…” I try to sound casual, but I’m not built for life on the sun. My body is about to combust.
Hic!I slap a hand over my mouth, my eyes wide. Has a body ever betrayed anyone so treacherously?
One side of Austin’s mouth draws into a smile he’s trying but failing miserably at suppressing.
I smack his chest, and he pulls back slightly, but he’s laughing.
“You did that on purpose!” I say.
He puts his hands up, proclaiming—totally falsely—his innocence.
“You did, didn’t you?”Hic!
