“Not trying to impress anyone?” he chides, suddenly close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off him. “It’s the middle of winter and you don’t even have on a coat.”
The gravel in his voice leaves me suddenly parched. I lick my lips, and his eyes track the movement.
“It was sixty degrees today,” I say, as if I wasn’t on my way to grab my coat just a minute ago.
He leans in, almost crowding me. “And you used to wear a jacket anytime it dipped below seventy.” His eyes flicker down again. “It’s forty now.”
That explains why my nipples have pebbled into hard peaks. Definitely the cold.
“You need a coat,” he says in that cocksure tone of his.
I take a step forward and glower up at him. “You aren’t the boss of me.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize . . . he is indeed the boss of me.
His eyes glint and that familiar smirk is back. “You sure about that?”
Gesturing to the sidewalk, I add, “You’re not the principal of the sidewalk.”
Weak, Brie.
He leans in until his mouth is by my ear, and I forget about details and arguments. All I can do is hold my breath.
“Where are you going, looking like that?”
His breath trails over the shell of my ear. I shiver. Goosebumps erupt down my neck. All the air vacuums out of my lungs as time stands still.
My eyes dart down. His chest hair looks soft, but themuscle beneath looks firm. And it’s so warm here, inside Sawyer’s personal space.
Sawyer.
I blink, coming back to my senses.
The fucking audacity of Sawyer Strong. I hold back from shoving him away and telling him it’s none of his business.
Instead, I give my shoulders a little shimmy. “I have a date.”
His smirk dies, replaced by drawn lips and narrowed eyes.
Ha!I raise my chin, daring him to take his next shot. It’s a goddamn thrill being the one to throw Sawyer off for a change.
He opens his mouth to respond. My eyes are immediately drawn to his lips. It’s in this moment that I realize our faces are inches apart. We’re toe to toe. Breathing the same air. Sharing body heat.
On an inhalation, I smell him. Chlorine. Spicy soap.Him.
“Brie!” a voice calls from behind him.
I startle, stumbling away from Sawyer as I trip on my own feet, arms reaching for something solid.
Sawyer grabs my waist, steadying me against his body.
I clutch at his arm with one hand, the other pressed against his chest, the muscle just as firm as I predicted. His heart beats in a quick staccato.
“Brie?” Dev’s voice cuts in again, this time closer and less sure.
I jerk out of Sawyer’s arms. I’m instantly cold. Dev comes into view behind him, and my face brightens.
My date.
He’s bundled in a bright greenpuffer jacket, an authentic smile on his face. One gloved hand waves as . . .wait. Whose hand is he holding?
