With a sigh, he leans forward again, abs tightening. I gulp down a flood of saliva. Oh my God. His abs are lickable too. So are his pecs. They’re just defined enough to be sexy but not bulky enough to look like gym boobs.
I can’t handle him like this. Bare-chested, hair messed, sweatpantslow. It should be illegal for someone to be this hot while doing apuzzle.
“Why aren’t you putting together the frame first?” I ask him.
“That’s not how I roll.”
“That’s the only way to puzzle,” I argue.
“I have a system, okay? The Graham system.”
“It’s inefficient.”
“Can you please go away? This is my activity. Go find your own.”
I pluck a few edge pieces out of the box and start making a pile.
“No,” Wyatt growls. “I told you, I don’t go by edges. I go by colors.”
“It’s all black and white!”
“And red,” he says smugly, pointing to the canoe.
“You know what? Fine. Do your stupid puzzle without my help. It’s only, what…” I check the box. “Four thousand pieces? I’m sure your system will have you finishing this in no time. Fucking asshole.”
His snort tickles my shoulder blades as I go to prep dinner.
I soon discover that Wyatt is a kitchen nuisance. Abandoning his puzzle, he wanders over and gets in the way constantly. Bumping into me. Jostling me with his elbow. Swiping a cherry tomato from the bowl when I’m in the middle of tossing the salad. When I open the fridge, he’s randomly standing there, even though he’s not getting anything.
“You need to get out of here,” I blurt out. “You’re in my way! Go prep the grill.”
“The grill is heating up.”
“I don’t care. You’re being intrusive.”
“You’rebeing intrusive. You intruded on my summer.”
“Oh my God, just go and stand silently outside and wait for the barbecue to heat up and get out of my life.”
“You’re very bossy,” he says, smiling faintly. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m digging it.”
“Oh really. You enjoy being bossed around.”
“Outside the bedroom? Sure,” he says, then saunters off and leaves me battling a jolt of desire.
The idea of Wyatt being commanding in the bedroom sends a tiny thrill down my spine and—
Nope.
I’m not allowed to think about what he enjoys in bed.
Through the glass doors, I watch him pull on a long-sleeved shirt. His sweatpants ride lower on his hips as he lifts his arms, and I gulp because I don’t think he’s wearing anything underneath those pants. My eyes instinctively focus on his ass. I sort of want him to turn around so I can search for the outline of his dick, and oh my God, that is the perviest thing I’ve ever thought, and I should be ashamed of myself.
I force my gaze away and focus on the salad and roasted potatoes.
