The hope is extinguished.
Paisley makes a sound of frustration, a strangled cry, and without thought I reach for her, grasping her forearm. She looks down at where I’m touching her, a quick breath slamming to the back of her throat.
My calluses.
I helped knock down walls three times this week. My calluses are prominent, more than when I’ve touched Paisley before.
She’s disgusted. By my touch.
Itwrecksme.
As if her skin is a hot stove, I jerk back my hand. Here it is again, embarrassment covered up by anger. “Howdare I touch you with my calloused hands.” It doesn’t sound angry, just insecure.
Paisley’s nose wrinkles, lips pressing together like an accordion while a determined ‘v’ appears between her eyebrows.
“Those hands.” She points a stiff finger at me. “Stop talking about those hands as if they’re a turn-off. They are a badge of honor, a trophy, an emblem of an honest man doing a hard day’s work. The fact you assume I think otherwise is insulting.”
She grabs my hands, whisking them under her T-shirt. I jolt at the feel of her warm, smooth skin, the dip of her belly button under the pad of my middle finger. She guides my hands over her stomach, fire burning in her blue-green irises. “Do I look like I care about your calluses?”
Shock holds me, but soon I’m moving on my own, running my hands over her sides, curving around to her lower back. Feeling Paisley’s body. She shivers. She has…goose bumps.
Could it be? She likes my rough touch?
My hands remain in place on her back, frozen but for my thumbs gently stroking her soft skin.
“Paisley.” My voice tumbles out, a deep and rumbly whisper.
“Yeah?” Her voice is shallow.
“I’m sorry. I’m...”
“Sensitive?” She arches an eyebrow.
“Yeah. I have a bit of a chip on my shoulder. We didn’t grow up with much, and...” my voice trails off. There are things I haven’t told her. Memories I prefer not to relive.
“Don’t worry about it,” she assures, stepping away and causing my hands to fall from her shirt. “Are we good?”
It’s the second time we’ve had to determine that we are, in fact, still good. I’m beginning to wonder if ‘good’ is a stand-in for the word ‘friends.’
I hold back my sigh. “We’re good, Royce.”
She walks to her car door, throwing me a tentative smile as she opens it. “See you soon, Madigan.”
She climbs in, and I go to my vehicle. I’m sure Eden and Oliver are almost to the ice cream place.
As for me, the feel of Paisley’s skin remains on my hands.
CHAPTER 15
Paisley
I fibbed.I don’t have to work. I have my final bridesmaid dress fitting, but that’s not for a few more hours.
I needed space from Klein.
Klein the guy I drunkenly made out with in college.
Klein the guy who tore apart my story.
