I put my book in front of my body, like somehow paper and ink bound together were going to protect me. “I wasrunning away from you, actually. You were being super annoying. And I was trying to get you to leave me alone.”
He bit back a smile, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “That explains the part where you grabbed me like your life depended on it.”
“I was disoriented.”
“And the part where you said my name? Repeatedly?”
“Oh, did I say something in my sleep?” I feigned innocence. “Sometimes I do that.” I waved a hand dismissively while a shaky laugh escaped me. “It’s nothing, honestly. It’s totally normal.”
Jay leaned a hand on the counter beside me, blocking my only exit path.
“Sure,Amapolita,” he murmured, eyes glimmering. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He reached a hand toward me, and I thought for sure he was going to touch me, but then he gently clasped the book I was clutching and tugged it from my arms. In my disoriented state, I simply let him take it, watching as he flipped through a few pages, scanning the words.
“You were reading this on the zip-line tour,” he said, a knowing smile appearing on his lips. “The one you ripped out of my hands like it was classified material?”
My eyes narrowed on him. “That romantic part is not all that the book is about, I’ll have you know.”
Jay hummed, clearly unconvinced. His finger paused on a paragraph for a beat before he snapped the book shut and held it out to me.
Our fingers brushed, and my breath hitched. His teasing expression softened, and a genuine curiosity took over his features.
“Is this your favorite book?”
“One of them,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Lindy Parker has written so many of my favorites, though. I couldn’t possibly pick one.”
Jay didn’t say anything in response. His jaw clenched, and I wondered what he could possibly be thinking.
“Do you read?” I suddenly blurted in my nervousness—anything to fill the silence and distract from the couch attack that had happened only minutes ago.
“Sometimes,” he said, his expression remaining steady, giving nothing away. “If I’m in the mood.” He was standing only a few inches away.
It was so quiet I could hear both our breathing.
A few minutes passed, and neither of us said anything at all.
“Hope,” he murmured suddenly, leaning in a bit more, his hand grasping the edge of the sink right behind me. Not touching me, but almost.
“Hm…” I said, daring to meet his eyes, which were so very, very close to mine now.
“Can I ask you a favor?” he asked quietly, almost a whisper.
He still hadn’t touched me, and yet somehow I felt like I was burning up. It was the kind of feeling that made me want to grit my teeth and scream a little. Almost enough to drive me mad.
I resisted the overwhelming desire to close the space between us.
“Sure,” I said, apparently my resolve too flimsy to say no.
I was so conflicted over this man. I wanted to hate him, wanted to stay away from him to protect myself, but another part of me?—
“Will you say my name again?”
I stilled, the fire in my veins blazing to another level, melting my brain cells.Say his name?
“Why?” I whispered.
