“Thank you, this is exactly what I needed today.” Squeezing me tighter, her head rubbing ever so slightly against my chest.
“Anything for you,” I say into her hair. Breathing in her coffee and cinnamon scent, it’s like she washes her hair in coffee. It’s exactly what I want to breathe in every time my arms are around her, comforting her, celebrating with her, whatever it is, I’ll be here, cheering her on.
With a few more beats with her in my arms, she leans back, loosens her grip, and stares up at me.
TWENTY-TWO
Ava
Ican't bring myself to move any further away from him. His arms around me feel right—right for me. The butterflies in my stomach are having a party. His hands rub my back, his whispers brush my hair, and the hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand on end. I try to resist how my body curves into his like it belongs here. I'm letting myself need this too much. Finally, I force myself to release him, though my fingers linger on his sleeve a moment longer.
Searching my eyes curiously, he breaks the silence. “Oh, I forgot to ask you, did your sister talk to you about taking her spot at the bowling league charity event?”
My eyebrow shoots up as I plant a hand on my hip. “Wait, wait. My sister agreed to bowl? With a belly the size of a beach ball? No, don't answer that, of course she did.”
His head tips back, eyes crinkling at the corners as laughter rumbles deep in his chest. “Yes, she said charity was worth waddling down a lane. But now she's refusing to leave the couch. Her exact words were ‘I look and feel like a beached whale.’”
“God, that phrase. She said it to me at least three times yesterday alone.” I watch his smile, the way sunlight catches in his blond hair, and the air in my lungs is lighter with his presence.
“Sooo…you in?” He playfully throws a piece of hair over my shoulder. “It’s this Saturday morning.”
“Okay, why not. What do you wear to a bowling charity event?” I wave my hands up and down my body. His eyes drag all the way down, lingering on my legs, and slowly back up. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, and the fabric of my dress swishes. My thighs rub together, hoping like hell he doesn’t notice…but he sure does, and his lips curl at one corner.
I squint back at him, narrowing my eyes until they're slits, trying to hide how his lingering gaze affects me.
He brings his hands down his torso, his fingers tracing a slow path over the soft cotton of his polo shirt that clings just enough to hint at what's underneath. “We’re casual, very casual. If you have time, we could play a couple of rounds of laser tag.”
“Oh, well, you may have me at laser tag. Are you any good? Because I like to win.” My eyes widen as I clasp my fingers together, extending my pointer fingers like the barrel of a gun. I pivot from side to side, making exaggerated shooting motions, complete with‘pew pew’sound effects, which make him laugh. That deep laugh makes me tremble with desire.
“I bowl like a champion, but I’m a top scorer at laser tag. And winning is the name of the game.”
“Then you can be on my team.” I shrug and gesture to him, trying like hell to keep this conversation light, but my body hasn’t received the message.
“Wait a minute. I’m the one inviting you, so I should be the one to pick teams, including whether or not you deserve to be on my team.” He jams his thumb into his chest, but his serious face breaks when I move closer to him.
The hunger in his eyes burns like a slow match. I’m not the only one fighting it. I chuckle, the sound catching in my throat. “How does one deserve to be on your team?” I say, lifting my fingers to make exaggerated air quotes around‘deserve.’My arms crossover my chest, the soft cotton of my dress pulling taut across my breasts. His eyes drop, pupils dilating slightly. When I glance down, I realize I'd forgotten about my coral V-neck dress, how my crossed arms had pushed everything up and together into picture-perfect cleavage. No wonder his gaze had fallen. Letting my arms drop back to my side, his eyes are back on my face with a smirk.
He must know I saw through it—and made sure the cleavage show didn’t get a sequel.
“Ah, sweetheart, you deserve to be on my team. You literally air shot make-believe people with finger guns. You’re in.”
Did he call me sweetheart again? It melts my heart.
Yeah, yeah, he did, warmth rippling through my body and landing straight in my heart that will burst at any second. I take a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll see you then. Can you text me the details?”
“I’ll text you all the information.” He pulls out his phone, taps out a message, and sends it to me. My phone dings from my handbag.
“Thank you. It really was nice seeing you. I’ll let you get back to it.”
“I’m finished for today. I have to hit up the office and talk with Dane. Only a few things to wrap up there this week, and I’ll be full-time here.”
“Once you set up the furniture and decor, it really will be an amazingly welcoming space. Do you need help with anything?” The way my body reacts to him—the heat rising, my pulse quickening.
“My brother will be helping me later this week. But honestly, I’d love your help. Two guys decorating the space might not be the best thing.”
“I’d love to.” My heart drops to my belly. No one—not in recent years—has made me feel special like he does. “When do you think you’ll be ready?” The more time I spend with him. I’ll take it, though my head is telling me to stop this nonsense and avoid him—avoid whatever this is inside me is saying.
“This weekend, I’d like to have everything set up and then I’ll be a hundred percent ready to open Monday morning.” He smiles widely, and I want to touch his face, grazing my hands on his sharp jawline and touching his lips. I resist the urge because earlier he was all-consuming, and I’d love nothing more than to be in his arms. It’s not the right time…right?Or maybe it is. We have a date scheduled for Wednesday—so why not?
