The corners of my mouth quiver with unreleased laughter. Finally, I can’t hold it in any longer. A guffaw spews out, and then I throw him a taunting grin. “The joke’s on you.” I make a show of pointing to myself with both index fingers. “You’re the one who has to look at this all day.”
He clips a startled laugh. Then his gaze softens with appreciation as his eyes move over the length of me with a thoroughness that heats my blood. “No complaints here.”
Wow, the things this man does to me. “T—thanks,” I stammer, blinking fast. What now? The urge to kiss him is so strong I could swim in it. “Um, maybe we should make another batch of French toast. I’ll take the helm.”Hold it together, London. You’re no longer in junior high.
A smile plays on his lips. “Don’t trust me, huh?”
I make a point of looking at the burnt toast. “Well …”
He holds up his hands. “Alright, I hear ya.”
“Why don’t you cut up the strawberries? And I’ll make the French toast.”
He pushes out a long, beleaguered breath, eyes dancing with mirth. “If you insist.”
“I do,” I chime as we share a smile. What am I going to do about this crazy, mixed-up situation? I can’t fall for Seth—Axel … again! It was hard enough when I was a kid. Another rejection from him might just do me in. I don’t want to spend the next decade licking my wounds and harboring more resentment.
And yet, how am I supposed to resist him?
Chapter
Seven
Three hours later,I let out a groan. “Enough! I can’t play this wretched song again, or I’ll go nuts.”
He frowns. “We’re just getting started.”
I point a drumstick at him. “You’re a workaholic. This is getting ridiculous.”
“Hey,” he counters. “This is what it takes to play in the big league.”
“You’re a masochist, a sadist, and a perfectionist all rolled into one.”
“Am not. You’re too soft.” He quirks a grin. “You need to toughen up.”
His words are a siren that blares in my ears. “What? I’ll show you soft.” I lob the drumstick at him. It sails through the air before hitting his shoulder.
“Ouch,” he yelps.
Oops. What have I done? As usual, my temper got the best of me. “Sorry,” I grimace. Is this where he’ll call me a lunatic and throw me out?
A slow grin moves over his mouth. “You’re gonna pay for that one.”
I squeal as he jumps up from the stool, puts his guitar down, and comes toward me. I scramble off the throne and plant my feet, wielding the remaining drumstick like a sword.
“Careful,” I warn, “I took taekwondo in middle school.” Granted, I was terrible at it, but I’m not about to tell him that.
“Ooh.” He holds up his hands and shakes them. “Now I’m scared.”
My hand flies to my hip. “You’d better be, Mister.”
He lunges. I try to dodge out of his reach, but he catches me and spins me around. I wiggle to escape his grasp, but he holds me with an iron grip, arms wrapped around mine.
“Now what are you gonna do?” he murmurs in my ear.
Attraction whooshes through me, nearly stealing my breath.
When he loosens his grip ever so slightly, I make a break for it, but he catches me again. “Where do you think you’re going?” He turns me around to face him.
