His gaze held mine, and a million thoughts swam in my head. The wind howled outside, causing the window near me to shake a little, but instead of the bone-chilling cold, I was hot all over.
I cleared my throat. “I guess I should read since we went to all the trouble of getting the candles, huh?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he offered a slight nod and pushed himself up from the chair before disappearing into a different room.
I blew out a long breath. Harrison Cooper was the most handsome man I had ever seen, and while it wasn’t easy to forget about our date from two years ago, it was even harder now when I couldn’t escape the sight of his full lips. There were very few times a kiss wasthatmemorable. My first one in seventh grade by the water fountain with Matt Hack. Despite his braces, he’d slid his tongue into my mouth and seared the memory into my mind forever. I had felt so scandalous… until a teacher caught us.
Then there was the night I’d had a one-night stand with a guy in college. I’d wanted to experience a night of passion without names, and I did. But while it was fun, the process taught me that I wasn’t a one-night girl. It was the first time I’d done anything remotely on my own terms so, for that reason alone, it was memorable.
And then two years ago: Harrison’s kiss. Strong, aggressive,hungry. He kissed like he coached on the field: full of determination, passion, and talent. I was the sole focus of his attention for a full minute. That one kiss left my knees buckling and my stomach fluttering with excitement. Unfortunately, the temporary bliss evaporated when he turned out like everyone else in my life. Ghosting me without a reason and making me doubt myself.
So screw that, Harrison. Take your kissing elsewhere.
Grunting from the bruise on my butt, I picked up my crime novel and settled into the perfect reading position with pillows propped behind my back, my legs covered with a down blanket, and a water bottle nearby. The ice rested against the bruise for another ten minutes. I would’ve preferred my hot chocolate, but I couldn’t have it all.
I read a chapter before Harrison’s heavy footsteps stomped toward me from the hallway, followed by the sound of something dragging. Something heavy. Cursing myself for forgetting a bookmark, I searched his coffee table drawer for something to use. Remotes, coasters, pens, a deck of cards, and a gum wrapper. Perfect.
“Uh, did you just pull a wrapper out of my drawer?” he asked, hands on his hips and his mouth quirking up on one side.
“Yes.” I took a deep breath, pushing down the desire to kiss him, and closed the book before setting it on the side table. “I refuse to bend the pages of books, and I forgot my bookmarks in the mad dash to the house.”
“One could argue that’s very peculiar. Books are meant to be read.”
He still hadn’t changed his stance, and it was distracting how well his layered shirts fit against his chest. I was a sucker for muscles, so I trained my eyes on his face. It was safer. Him touching my skin to assess my bruise had really messed with my strictblizzard-buddiesrelationship. Here I was thinking about kissing and sex after he’d touched my butt for two seconds.
“I understand books are meant to be read, but I like it when the pages aren’t creased. They look nice and perfect.” I pursed my lips, refusing to hear his side of the argument. He was wrong. Plain and simple.
“Couldn’t you argue the more a book is read, the better? The creases or stains are visible evidence of how much people loved and used it. My favorite books as a kid had writing on them, food spots, dirt. You name it, and I got it on the pages.”
I cringed, the thought of destroying a book sending a shudder through me. “No. No, thank you. You’re wrong in your assessment.”
“Beg to differ. There’s something gritty about seeing a used book and knowing that all the people who read it made a mark. My sister for instance.” He laughed, and the lines of his face softened. “She would reread the same books over and over. Nancy Drew, I think, and she would write the date in the corner on the same page each time she reread it. God, it’s been years since I thought of that. But one page had probably twenty dates on it, showcasing her youth. I like the thought of that.”
His half-smile transformed into a full one again, and my next words in defense of my proper care of books disappeared. Disarming. That’s how his smile was, and I needed to get a grip if I planned to stay here for another two days.
I cleared my throat, but it didn’t do any good.
His gaze dropped to my crime book, and he shook his head, a slight red coming to his cheeks. “You’re an odd one, Becca.”
His tone was warm, and while I had been called odd before, this one didn’t hold the same sting. He said it like a compliment rather than an observation, and I liked it.
“I like what I like.” I shrugged. “Erik Larson does a phenomenal job of writing the truth about crimes, events, what have you, in a narrative form. This one combines the events of the World’s Fair and a serial killer in Chicago. Also, how wild is this? My mom said her grandma lived on the street this serial killer did, at the same time! That just boggles my mind. Like, they could’ve crossed paths.”
I shrugged, my face heating fromoversharing yet again. I waited for a condescending remark like most of the dudes my mom set me up with because they’d tuned me out.Oh, that’s interesting you read crime.OrWow, cool.The best, though, was when they didn’t respond and instead talked about themselves, unprompted. Men were the worst sometimes.
Harrison did none of those things.
“Life’s too damn short to settle. It takes a certain level of confidence to own what you like, and I commend you for it. Also, that’s crazy about living on the same street as a murderer,” he said.
“If you want, I can leave this book with you so you can borrow it?” I offered.
He nodded. “I’ll give it a try.”
“Great.”
We waited a beat, staring at each other as the room grew warmer and smaller. I cleared my throat as he disappeared in the hall for a second, returning with an entire mattress. Not a small one, either. He pushed the biggest mattress I had ever seen into the living room and tilted it against the chair he’d recently vacated.
My eyes bulged. “What the—?”
