“That’sreallygood,” I whisper, my voice thick.
She makes a soft, smug sound. “Are you faking it right now too? Because your voice is abnormally deep, Theo.”
I almost choke on the way my name sounds from her lips, this close and intimate. But I’m having too much fun with this little game to let her win that easily. “Yeah, I have a lot of experience.”
“With womenfaking itaround you?” She tsks. “What a shame. Thought you’d be better than that.”
“Mmm.” I breathe in her scent again, letting it drug me, lull mecloser to the inevitable high. “So you’ve been thinking about me,” I murmur, way too pleased at the idea.
A little growl of annoyance bursts out of her, and in a flash, she ducks under my arm and steps away. Cool air rushes back into my lungs.
She whirls to glower at me, half-dazed and flustered in a way I’ve never seen her.
A heady thrill zips up my spine. I’ve either royally pissed her off or she’s more affected by me than she wants to admit. Either way, it’s a win and I’m going to savor it.
“It’ll be the manure pile in the back field,” she decides, crossing her arms and tightening her jaw. “That’s where I’ll bury you.”
Chapter 12
Fable
Oaks Folks
Tessa:Fabes, how’d the dinner go? Was Theo drooling?
Fable:Yes. Over a dog named Chewie.
Tessa:...you know that’s not what I meant.
Mom:What did you mean?
Tessa:Fabes looked hot last night. Itold her Theo would need a towel for his drool.
Millie:Why didn’t we all get a fit check? I want to see!
Fable:The day I start sending you all outfit photos, you know I’ve been possessed.
Dad: fit check!
Islept horribly last night, and there are three words to blame.
That’s really good.Husky and deep. Vibrating across my skin.
All night, I tried to forget them. Tried to pretend they were about something completely different. Unsexy and boring.That’s really good broccoli casserole. That’s really good laundry detergent. That’s really good use of the Pythagorean theorem.
Turns out, however, anything can be made to sound sexy when I’m imagining Theo saying it softly, right against the shell of my ear.
That asshole is currently taking up way too much space in this house. Acting like he lives here with music playing from his phone, a water bottle sitting on the kitchen counter, a bag of tools in the hallway, and a load of “fire clothes” in the dryer that he needed to wash before his first meeting this afternoon. This is his first day of A-frame work, and he’s acting like he’s moving in.
Knocks is hanging out with him in the downstairs bedroom while he replaces the wet drywall with a few sheets I found in Gramps’s shed. He talked me through cutting and replacing the first piece, but I made up an excuse about needing to clean the kitchen cabinets to avoid being in that room with him any longer. Because if he saysthat’s really goodone more goddamn time, I might lose it.
I’m four cabinets in, sweat beading on my temples from the effort, and at an especially creepy part in a podcast, when I turn to find Theo in the doorway.
“Shit,” I cry out, ripping my noise-canceling headphones off and standing.
The flannel he showed up in is long gone, leaving him in a navy T-shirt that’s barely containing his giant shoulders. His hair’s alittle mussed, curling at his ears, and he has a big smile on his face. There’s a stack of pictures and a metal box in his hands—the same one I discovered during the bedroom flood.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out harsh.
