I suck in a puff of air when he sweeps his gaze over me. It’s slow, deliberate, like he’s allowing himself a luxury he wouldn’t ordinarily, and one he doesn’t intend on wasting. Then he inches closer, and he leans down so steadily I don’t notice what’s happening until his nose brushes the curve of my neck. My eyelashes flutter at the innocent yet intimate touch.
“You smell like coconuts,” he mutters right by my ear, and I’m so surprised by the comment I can’t immediately speak.
He’s so much bigger than me. More than that, his presence is everywhere, as if the sweltering weight of the sun follows wherever he goes. He’s the only thing I feel in this cramped space.
“You smell like”—I inhale, absorbing his scent, but I don’t know what it is. It’s fresh, like he recently showered, but also masculine with a hint of earth from yard work—“man.”
His forehead drops against my shoulder, and he laughs, a quiet, low rumble that makes my cheeks warm. I’ve never heard him laugh before. There’s something about the sound—raw, real, vibrating from his stomach to my palm—and my heart patters knowing I pulled such a reaction out of him.
The closet door opens, and we both jump.
Kimmie is mid rolling her eyes when she turns her attention from the kitchen wall to the coat closet, one hand on the doorknob. Her jaw drops when she looks right at us. Joshua’s already pulled away from me, his entire body tense, but it’s too late. Kimmie flicks her wide eyes from me to him, and back again.
“What—? Oh, my god. Were you guys, like—?”
“No, we weren’t,” Joshua grumbles, pushing past her, then he disappears into the kitchen.
Kimmie stares at me.
I stare at her.
When I offer an awkward smile too reminiscent of when I spilled her coffee, she shoots lasers from her eyes.
“So ...” I clear my throat, quietly stepping around her. “I’ll see you at dinner?” She says nothing, tracking me like I’m a roach that might crawl into her food. “Okay ... cool.”
Joshua is already in his seat beside Henry when I reach the table. I take the empty spot across from him just as Rebecca sets the final dish down.
“You okay?” she asks, her brows puckering. “You look a little flushed.”
“Oh. I’m fine, thank you.” I avert my gaze, but even more heat floods my skin when I find Joshua looking right at me. His head is tilted slightly, eyes narrowed, but he doesn’t look irritated like I expected. His intense stare travels all over my face, and he looks ... focused. Like he’s trying to work something out in his head.
I give a small smile, and his lips tip up a fraction.
It’s hardly noticeable, and it’s already gone by the time he shifts his attention to Tim at the head of the table, but the look was enough to make my stomach clench.
Joshua’s so sparing with his smiles, just like his laughs. Almost like he’s cautious about who he gives them to. Each one is a secret pocket of light I store inside me, and each one makes my chest glow a little brighter.
Hunt
My thumb taps the steering wheel. The slowtap, tap, tapis almost drowned out by the sound of my engine, and it’s perfectly in sync with the steady stream of images from dinner flashing through my head.
It was a twenty-five-minute drive to the homeless shelter, now back again, but it feels like hours by the time I’m pulling onto my street. Henry held it together pretty well during dinner, but the whole thing took a lot out of him. His sweat-drenched shirt and constant fidgeting told me to wrap the night up well before we reached dessert. I ended up spitting out some bullshit excuse about wanting to spend time alone with my dad before he took off again, and Tim let us off the hook without a hiccup. By the time we left, Henry was so far outside his comfort zone that he was damn near wrecked, and I felt like an asshole.
I park the truck on the street, pulling the keys out of the ignition and gritting my teeth.
I keep seeing that deer-in-headlights look he had through the last half of dinner. The whole ride back to the shelter, he continued to insist it was nothing, but I know I can’t put him through that again. I won’t do it.
And Blue.
She keeps crowding my head.
Sitting in my truck, I glance up, toward the second story of the Everest home. I can’t see her window from here, but I know she’s there. Probably getting ready for bed ... or taking a shower. My gaze drops at that last thought, and I try to block out the image.
I haven’t done anything wrong.
I haven’t touched her.
But I want to.
