Andrew scooted closer along the roof to where I was struggling to keep the ladder up.
“So close, don’t stop now. Can you boost it like another three inches?”
I could barely keep it in the air let alone get it any higher. My arms were starting to shudder from the weight and pain in my wrist, but I wasn’t about to let Andrew see me fail. I adjustedmy grip on the ladder and inched toward where he was leaning out to grab it.
“Careful,” I managed to squeak out when I looked up and saw how unstable he was as he leaned out to try to reach the ladder. I didn’t want to be the reason why he fell off the roof.
“Almost,” he said. “Reach down deep andpush. Come on!”
I giggled despite the struggle. “You sound like a Lamaze coach.”
“Quit playing anddo it, Higgins! I know you can!”
His gravelly voice came from somewhere prehistoric, a caveman sound that set off something inside of me. Suddenly, I found myself engaging the muscles in my back instead of my shoulders and managed to lift the ladder high enough for Andrew to finally reach out and grab it.
“Got it,” he yelled. “Nice work!”
I fought the urge to bask in the compliment and focused on the pain in the wrist instead.
“Can you check if it’s level for me?” Andrew asked. “Make sure the feet are flipped out.”
I cradled my arm against my chest and peered at the base of the ladder. “They are.”
“Perfect.” He looked down on me like Zeus himself. “Thanks for the muscles. I just need one last thing: can you put your weight on the bottom rung? Just step on it. Coming down can be a little dicey.”
“Yup.” I positioned myself at the bottom of the ladder and propped my foot on the rung, then glanced up at him at the absolute worst moment.
Because Andrew had swung himself around the ladder sothat his ass was directly above me in all its splendor. The ass that had earned him the nickname “Volleyball Butt.” So perfectly round that it was impossible not to at least glance at it, which was exactly what I’d managed tonotdo until that very moment.
He came down slowly and I was mesmerized by the thing. Why did he have to wear jeans that showed it off like that? Maybe wearing butt-flattering jeans was a way of advertising that he knew what he was doing in the gym? Like, was his ass an actual business asset?
I was so busy considering if Andrew’s butt was a write-off that I failed to notice that his vantage point above me gave him a perfect view of my line of sight. I glanced up and saw his bemused smile through the rungs. I coughed and looked away.
The sound of jingling dog tags gave us both something else to focus on when he finally hit the ground. Dude and Murray rounded the corner with muddy paws and covered in burrs, panting and happy.
Dude ran over and rebounded off of me, knocking me back a few steps because I still had my wrist cradled to my chest.
“What’s up with your arm?” Andrew asked, nodding toward it.
“It’s my wrist, from the night I met Dude,” I admitted. “When I fell.”
“And it’sstillbothering you?” Andrew took a few steps closer, his gaze fixed on my arm.
“A little.”
“Let me see it.” He reached out toward me.
I flinched like his fingers might be hot to the touch, but he was so focused on diagnosing me that he didn’t seem to notice.His forehead was creased in concentration as he grasped me. My jacket was the only thing between his fingertips and the sensitive skin of my wrist, a berm between the ceasefire we’d agreed to and the sexy, angry heat we’d made together so many years ago.
“Does this hurt?” he asked as he placed his thumb and pointer finger on either side of my still-sleeved wrist and squeezed.
My wince was the only answer he needed.
“Sorry. Make a fist,” he ordered.
I complied and he wrapped his massive hand around it, swallowing it completely. The warmth of his palm against my knuckles made me want to take a few steps closer to him, to absorb some of the heat he seemed to give off in spades. I glanced at his face, but he was deep in diagnostic mode.
I hadn’t been this close to him since... well, since that night. I took the opportunity to study Andrew as he examined my arm. Same aquiline nose, same black-brown eyes beneath the dramatic, envy-inducing brows, same lashes so long that they looked fake, same fat bottom lip. The only thing different about him was the mess on his head and the additional bulk. He had the vibe of someone who didn’t have the time or inclination to bother with grooming, but he somehow made the shoved-back bun look better than all of the perfectly coiffed guys I came across on dating apps.
