I want to step right over it, grab him, and revisitexactlywhat it feels like when it’s not acting for the cameras. I have to straighten my spine and pretend the way he looks doesn’t unravel me as I step closer to him.
The problem is…neither of us are fooling anyone.
“I can do that,” I say, reaching for the weed wacker in his hands.
He raises a brow. “You sure?”
I nod. “You can teach me.”
“This thing bites.”
“I bet it does,” I say, winking, but quickly straighten my lips.
I don’t even know where that came from. I feel myself staring at him, waiting for a reaction to the unexpected words out of my mouth.
Am I flirting with Tucker?
Oh my god, I definitely am.
He hands it over, and I feel relieved that he didn’t read too much into it. The moment I hold it in my hands, I nearly sever my own ankles. The machine jerks, kicking like a wild animal.
“I think this thing has a vendetta against me!” I shout over the noise.
“You’re supposed to control it, not dance with it.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Muscles!” I say, gesturing to his arms.
He steps behind me before I can protest, reaching around me, covering my hands with his on the handle. He presses his chest to my back, and I feel the heat of his body everywhere. My heart rate starts doing gymnastics with every breath he takes and every shift of his body.
“Like this,” he murmurs close to my ear, guiding the movement. “Let it work for you.”
Hand over mine, we glide over the grass, clipping away at what was once a jungle out here. I clear my throat, trying not to sound affected by his presence. “You’re awfully good at this.”
I misstep to the side, forcing me to fall into him closer than I was. His arms tighten around me to hold me in place.
“Scottie,” he growls out, but I don’t move. My hips press into him, and I can feel everything—and I meaneverything—against my back. The only thing it does is sharpen this reckless pull I already have for Tucker. This reckless gravity dragging me over the line again.
His lips brush the shell of my ear, and it takes everything in me not to melt straight into the grass. One breath against my skin and I’m already unraveling—willing to bring myself to my knees again for this man.
“Careful. You’re flirting with danger, Scottie.”
I smirk, turning my head to make eye contact with him over my shoulder, and he’s so close. God, he’s so close.
After thinking about everything the last few nights—the way he admitted he didn’t regret crossing the line with me and the way he said it without flinching like the truth didn’t scare him as much as pretending did. He was also the first person who ever looked at me and told me I was enough without attaching a condition to it. He’s let me be myself with him, and I finally understand what I’ve been doing all these years—shrinking what I feel so everyone else can stay comfortable.
I don’t want to do that anymore.
For once, I’m choosing me. And I’m choosing him.
“No, I’m flirting with you. The danger is just a bonus.”
Tucker throws his head back and groans.
Stepping away from me, I feel the loss of his touch everywhere, but I keep moving the weed wacker how he showed me. With more control, I clip down all the high parts of the grassaround the edges of the house with Tucker watching me as if to protect me from slicing my ankles in half.
Just as I’m about to finish, I spot the glider swing off to the side of the property again. Taking large steps over the still tall grass patches, I stop in front of it.
Tucker stops beside me, close enough that his arm brushes mine. “We can fix this up,” he says softly, pulling his shirt over his head. “The swing. We don’t have to throw it out.”
