“Can you stop saying meet-cute?” I try to keep the frustration from seeping into my tone, but the slightly wounded look on his face tells me I failed. It’s for the best. I don’t want him getting attached to me or my boys, not when everything I touch ends in disaster. Best to keep things light. Casual.
“Sorry. Just saying I enjoyed spending time with your lad even if it wasn’t under the most ideal of circumstances. But Ihadn’t been officially introduced to Levi, not counting the arse-grabbin’.”
I feel bad for the way I shut him down with my comment, and I bite my lip, offering him a small smile. His eyes drop to my mouth, seemingly mesmerized by the movement. Is the firefighter hottie checking me out? Surely not. It’s all in my head. I’m a walking disaster, as proven by our earlier run-ins.
There’s no way someone as attractive as him would ever want to be with someone like me. I don’t mean to put myself down, and I think I have very attractive qualities, but they’re buried deep in the rubble that is my disaster of a life. I love my kids, and I was lucky to be able to conceive them, but my dating life often feels like a string of unlucky disasters.
“How’d you come up with the name Levi? I like it.”
“It took me a week to pick a name for him. I was alone with a toddler, suddenly responsible for two kids on my own. And Micah kept getting annoyed with how attached Levi was to me, mainly because I was breastfeeding, so I looked up names and when I saw that Levi meant ‘joined’ or ‘attached,’ I just knew.”
He furrows his brow. “Why were you alone? What about their dad?”
Knowing this isn’t something I’m willing to share, I choose my words carefully. “Their dad isn’t in the picture.”
He nods once, and I exhale, relieved he’s not going to press further. “Micah is a handsome lad. Has your eyes.”
Our eyes meet, and I’m overwhelmed by the intensity I see there.Ishe flirting with me? Or just examining my eyes to see if they match Micah’s?
He lifts a hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and I shiver at the contact. No, definitely flirting.
“Where does Levi get the red hair from? Does it run in your family?” His fingers linger by my ear before he pulls back.
I drop my head, suddenly overwhelmed by his attention. “It must,” I admit, and I squeeze my eyes shut, suddenlyafraid he’s going to pick that comment apart. Who doesn’t know if something like that runs in their family?
But he doesn’t press the matter, and I look up at him, silently wishing he would touch me again.
“It suits him.”
“Thanks.”
Mike nods and leans against the truck behind us, propping a leg up in a way that appears effortlessly cool, totally casual. Meanwhile, I’m a mess of chaotic thoughts and restless energy. What is his game here? Surely he’ll get tired of me. He’ll definitely get tired of my boys; they are a handful and a half. Is he looking for something serious or just a hookup? I’ve never brought men around my boys. I don’t want them getting attached to someone who isn’t going to stick around for long. And what if we did start something? Chestnut Mountain is full of gossips; it could get back to the boys. I’ve done a good job of isolating ourselves since they were born. I keep my circle small, don’t go out much, keep to myself. Besides that, I don’t like relying on other people, not even my friends. I learned at a young age that I could only count on myself, so I have a hard time letting people in.
I don’t know a lot of people in our small town outside of my little friend group, so it’s not surprising that Mike and I have never met before now. I’ve seen him around before, of course, but I can’t seem to avoid bumping into him lately. With my luck, if we did start something and it ended, I’d never be able to turn another corner without seeing him.
Mike leans toward me and lowers his voice. “I want to help you.” His clean, woodsy scent hits me, and fuck me, it smells good. Masculine. Sensual.
Shaking my head, I clear my thoughts, trying not to let the gravel of his voice or his hypnotizing scent influence the decision-making part of my brain. “We’re good. Despite our recent run-ins, I promise I’m not a total shit mom.”
He chuckles. “Never thought you were anything less than amazing.”
I turn to look at him. “What?”
“With them. Your lads.” He gestures to the ambulance and the excited squeals emanating from it.
“But that’s not what I’m offering to help with.” He winks.
Oh myGod.
All the blood in my body rushes to my face as I try not to look at him again. My cheeks are on fire, my hands are sweaty, and my panties are damp. I try everything I can think of to calm down, every tool my therapist has given me, but nothing is working. I can’t even control my reaction to him, and I hate it. Except I don’t hate it. But I do hate that I like it so much.
Images flood my brain. Him shirtless, sweat dripping down his well-defined pecs, an axe on his shoulder. I swear I’ve already memorized every inch of his calendar photo and would recognize his body in a lineup while blindfolded, with only my hands to guide me.
Fuck, and now I can’t stop thinking about that.
His hand brushes against mine, and I look down to see his pinky graze the back of my hand, tracing slow circles there. I feel it in every inch of my body, every nerve ending standing at attention. Even my clit pulses as he continues his movements.
It’s impossible to look away from his hand. How is that one tiny movement the most erotic thing that’s happened to me in years?
