“Damn. Tell me how you really feel,” he says with a choked laugh.
“Where do you get off? I’ve known you for five seconds, and you think that warrants a kiss? Did I give you permission to kiss me?” I snap, my eyes wide, hating that I can still feel the warmth of his lips on mine.
Get it together, Ambrosia!
Finally, he looks a bit guilty. He cups the back of his neck, and my God, is he blushing? “You didn’t, and I’m sorry if I crossed the line?—”
“Crossed the line?” I repeat incredulously. “Hotshot, you jumped over that sucker and assaulted me with your lips.”
He eyes me, and why in the hell do I watch his lips move as he asks, “Assaulted you?”
“You don’t get to kiss me without permission!” I screech, but his eyes narrow in on my lips.
Now we’re just two idiots, breathing hard and staring at each other’s lips.
What is happening to me?
His eyes snap to mine just as mine do to his, and he smiles—the kind of smile I only see on his mom’s Instagram. “Blink once if you liked it,” he whispers, and I throw my hands up in rage.
“No, I didn’t like it because it wasn’t wanted!” I yell, stepping toward him but then stepping back when I get a whiff of his cologne.
That dangerous manly smell.
“First, you put on your stories that I’m off-limits? Are you deranged?”
“I did.”
I gawk at him. He has no remorse! If anything, he looks fucking pleased as punch with himself. “News flash, hotshot. I am nothing to you, you are nothing to me. You have no ownership of me or my body. Take?—”
“Yet,” he says with such confidence, if I were a bystander, I wouldn’t even dare to doubt him.
But I do dare.
Oh! I so fucking dare!
“Never!” I snap back, glaring up at him. “We will never be a thing. You are you, all fuckboy and full of yourself, and I will not be your next conquest. This is not a challenge?—”
“A prize.”
I snap my jaw shut, looking at him in pure confusion. “Huh?”
“You’re not a challenge,” he says almost shyly, which makes me laugh. “You’re the prize.”
I balk at that.No, you will not be charmed by him!My voice rises with each slap of my hands. “You.” Clap. “Do.” Clap. “Not.” Clap. “Know.” Clap. “Me!”
I swear, it’s as if he isn’t the least bit affected by my outburst. “I do, though,” he says simply, moving closer. “I know you have a standing appointment to get your nails done every Sunday at noon after church with your mom and aunt.” My eyes widen. “I know you like to eat all foods, but your mom’spastelesare your favorite. That you like to snack on Big Chewy Nerds when you’re working on your podcast, and that your studio is full of all your dad’s old memorabilia.” I’m stunned to silence. “I know your coffee order and that you’ve resorted to DoorDashing because you’re scared to see me. Because you feel this, and while you’re afraid to let it happen, you can’t help but wonder, what if you did?”
I blink. His words are so calm, so confident, and his eyes shine with promise.
My mouth goes dry, and all I can do is roar, “Are you stalking me?”
He grins, his dimples flaring. “No. I’ve been listening to your podcast, and according to Google, I’m not breaking any laws.”
Damn it all to hell. Why is he doing this to me? I inhale sharply and shake my head before pinching the bridge of my nose. “You Googled if you were a stalker?”
“Yeah. I don’t want to go to jail before I can convince you to give me a chance.”
I sigh deeply, squeezing my eyes shut. “Stop. Please stop,” I practically beg.
