“Isn’t it obvious?”
“You don’t make conversation easy. I’mtryinghere. Can you do me the courtesy of not acting like a dick whenever I open my mouth?”
“It’s not my fault you snap whenever I open mine.”
“Ugh, you’re impossible. And you didn’t answer my question. Why do you call meWinter?”
“Because it fits.”
She slams her cup back on the counter, anger following her like a stormy cloud on her way out of the apartment.
Arthur almost breaks a leg chasing after her.
***
I should’ve gone with Bianca.
I’m not getting any sleep, jacking off took six minutes, and now I’m alone, my mind whirring, anxiety mounting. Arthur is capable, he’ll keep Bianca safe. Iknowthat, but rational thinking isn’t my forte this morning.
Instead of relaxing for a couple of hours before it’s my turn to shadow Little Miss Independent, I’m triple-checking the security features inBloom. Half an hour later, I’m pacing a trench between the front window and the storage room.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket every few minutes, my finger hovering overArthurin the contact list. I want to check in on them, make sure everything’s okay, but I’m worried the phone call will distract him.
For the eleventh time in the last hour, I shove the phone back where it belongs.
My eyes dart to the clock on the wall, minutes stretching like bubble gum before it’s seven fifty-three and my Jeep rolls to a stop outside the shop window. I all but barge out through the fucking glass door, my pulse on the fast side until Bianca exits the car in one piece.
The guarded delight painting her face disappears as soon as she looks at me, morphing into a stoic, emotionless expression.
Damn, she doesn’t like me much.
On instinct, I let my gaze rove her body, noting the tight jeans I failed to register when she stormed out earlier.
Her ass looks exquisite.The light-blue fabric hugs her hips like a glove, and her V-neck top gives me a peek into her cleavage. Instead of appreciating the view, a different feeling settles deep in my gut—annoyance.
How many men have ogled her this morning?
I round the car, pulling the trunk open. “Everything good?”
“No issues,” Arthur replies, helping me unload.
“I’ve got it. You’re off the hook now. Go sleep.”
He nods, his fingers falling away from the big bucket filled with pink roses. There are at least twelve buckets in the trunk, all brimming with flowers. Roses take up most of the space, but there are others, most of which I can’t name.
I lift one bucket out, noting its weight. Immediately, my mind whirs, picturing Bianca hauling these into the flower shop every morning. They’re too heavy for a delicate girl like her.
She grabs one and my protective streak grows thorns. “Leave it. Just show me where you want them all.”
She ignores me, reaching for a bucket of purple flowers. “I can manage.”
“I don’t doubt that, but now I’m here, I’d rather you let me do the heavy lifting.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”
Of course she is. She’s always fuckingfine.
She lifts the bucket out, her face flushing red, fingers whitening, veins bulging. I expect, I fuckinghopeshe’ll give up and let me deal with it. Wishful thinking.
