“Callum?”
I nod.
“Screw Callum.” In one fluid motion, his hands are wrapping around my bare legs and pulling me across his lap to face him like it’s nothing. Like we do this all the time. Like it’snatural.And suddenly I remember howhotit is when a guy takes charge. No wonder he’s had no shortage of dates.
My mouth falls open in shock as I stare down at Decker, my legs perched on either side of him. There has got to be something in our guidelines thatstraddling himoversteps. Yet for some reason, even if it does, I’d allow it.
He smiles up at me. “This okay?”
I nod again.
His face brightens. “Good. I want to try something.”
I watch his face as he sweeps a swath of my hair behind my shoulder. My pulse picks up at the feel of his fingers trailing over the bare skin there, and I can’t look away from him. I’ve never noticed the array of greens in his eyes before. It’s breathtaking.Instantly, chord progressions and disembodied lyrics swim through my head. I have an itch towrite about them.
Oh, sweet Lord above, send help. What is happening to me?A familiar feeling flutters inside, which is immediately overshadowed by a sinking dread.
Lena Claire Lukowski, you big, dumb boob. You have a crush on him. You have a crush on Decker Trace.
How is that even possible? He’s done nothing but annoy me since the moment he inconsiderately gobbled down my refreshments. My heart is a stupid, fickle thing. How dare it betray me for a pretty face and muscles? How can it be so ready to be crushed again?Traitor.
I turn my head, eager to break eye contact, but he pursues. My breath hitches when he leans his forehead into my cheek, and I wonder if he can hear my heart kick into high gear as his dark lashes graze my skin. I close my eyes, the scent of that vetiver bottle I unearthed in his bathroom filling my lungs. It’s grassy and woodsy and, for a moment, makes me forget how annoying he can be.
As much as I wish I could stop myself, I can’t hold back. Leaning in and going with it is my natural reaction. Is it the fact that his cologne smells way too good to be wasted on anything fake? Or that before they brushed against me, I didn’t realize exactly how soft those waves in his hair are? I want to lean back. I want to add some distance between us. I want to take a cold shower and scour away thisotherwant that’s cropped up inside, but I can’t. Not only do I find myself frozen, but if I keep backing down, no one will ever believe what we have is real. I take one long—probably creepy—whiff of his coconut shampoo before he’s dropping his head and nuzzling my neck. Instinctively, I giggle. And then I hear another click of the camera.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DECKER
Lena in my lap is…better than expected. She fits perfectly, all her soft edges sinking into me, molding to my body. The way she’s looking at me now, and pressing into me, I have a hard time believing this thing isn’t real. I can understand how she’s left a string of broken hearts in her wake—even if a few of those were hers. The way she feels, smells—all sweet and sugary and like I walked into a room lined wall to wall with baked goods and lemons. I wish I could surround myself with it all the time. The way her cheeks flush when my nose grazes her neck. It would be easy to fall in love with someone like that. Someone like her, who loves my dog and can flip a switch from sweet to sour in an instant. Why do I like that so much? And then it slams into me harder than a 300-pound linebacker at the twenty-yard line. These aren’t simply quirks I’m drawn to… They’re pieces of her. I don’t just like those things.I like her.
I like Lena.
Disappointment washes over me when she leans away. My body is instantly cold at her abrupt departure.
“Let me see.” She grabs my phone, and all at once I rememberthis is a photo op, Decker, you idiot.That’s it. Stop drooling over the way she smells and feels. She’s not thinkinganything more of it. This is a business exchange, and mixing business with pleasure is never a good thing. One of them always ends in a fiery crash. Still, I can’t help but wonder if it would be worth it.
She clamps down on her pouty lip, chewing as she zooms in on the picture. “I didn’t realize you had freckles.” She leans in, and I hold my breath as she cranes her neck around to scope out the light smattering on my cheek. “It’s either sun damage or freckles.”
Sun damage? Attractive.
“Or both,” I say, deciding that self-deprecation might make me feel less awkward. At least she’s honest, I guess.
“It’s just a little hyperpigmentation. I didn’t even notice until now.” She tilts her head. “You really should start wearing sunscreen.”
“I do.”
She jabs a finger into my cheek, drawing attention to the spots again. “You don’t. It’s okay. We can work on that. I have some extra upstairs someone just sent me to try.”
“Someone sent it to you for free?”
“People send me stuff all the time, hoping I’ll endorse them. I’m sure after this little relationship is over you’ll have your pick of products too.”
“Products like skin care?”
“I’ve also been sent beef jerky, deodorant, blankets, and electronics, to name a few. Some of them are decent, too.” She nudges me. “When you open your shelter, I bet they’ll send you doggy care things. The sky’s the limit if a company thinks attaching themselves to your name will get them sales.”
I raise my brows, surprised at how confidently she worked my potential shelter into the conversation.
