In the corner of my eye, I spot a hellbent Esme storming my way.
“You!” she snarls.
Oh man.
“Yes?”
“I’m so angry.”
Scratching my cheek, I point out the obvious. “I’m soconfused. I thought you said that you wouldn’t be angry that we didn’t consummate our date that was going pretty well.”
Her arms splay out in the direction of the driveway. “That was before you decided to ruin my driveway.”
My eyes squinch to examine what she could possibly mean. Maybe I’m still too groggy for this all, but I’m not catching on.
“The sand,” she snipes. “The fucking sand.”
Ah crap, I see it now. Piles of sandbags.
“I’m going to guess they got delivered to the wrong address.”
“No, really? Could have fooled me.” She stands in her traditional stance, hand on her tipped-out hip.
I groan up to the sky. “I’m sorry.”
“Who the hell orders sand?” she squeaks.
Stepping forward, I raise my palms in an attempt to calm her. “It’s supposed to be for the sandbox in my backyard. I wanted to make a play area for my nephew when he visits.”
For a millisecond, her eyes soften, and I’m sure I just gained a point from the less-pissed version of Esme. That’s the power of little kids and hot guys. Except…
“Sand? Really?” Her voice pipes up. “You realize that it’s the worst possible thing you could do. A swing would probably be better. Butno,someone wants to make their life complicated by inviting sand to get freaking everywhere in their house.”
She doesn’t appreciate the grin now on my face. “One, why do you care about my house? And two, sand is educational, he can build things with it.”
Esme continues to glare at me. “Get the sand off my driveway,” she gripes. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get to a shoot then dinner with Hailey.”
“And calm down a bit,” I add on, one-toned.
Her eyes gawk at me, and she jabs her finger into my chest. “Don’t be cute right now.”
My grin stays tight. “I will fix it, okay. Now, can we sweep this under the rug?”
“Sweep it off my driveway,” she deadpans.
“That too.”
We both pause, and I take my chances by touching her shoulder. “Don’t want to talk about last night?” Her face doesn’t flinch, but her eyes have a glint of joy. “No? Too soon?”
“Move. The. Sand.”
I’m trying not to laugh, but Esme is too freaking adorable because I can tell she would rather we rip one another’s clothes off right now. I’ve come to learn her body language now that I’ve been inside her a few times.
I see the signs of a smile on her lips creeping through, but before she commits to showing me, she walks away, not even looking back. “Better be gone before I get back,” she reminds me. I can tell by the tone that she’s grinning to herself.
“A pleasure as always,” I call out.
She’s exhilarating, that one.
