Me:
Why?
Soph:
He knows tech, and he’s not too shy to try new things. Even if he fucks it up, he’s happy to have the experience. He knows I exist now, and he knows you and I are pals.
He’s trying to slide his sticky fingers into my cookie jar.
The cookie jar is a metaphor for ‘this bitch is trying to hack me.’
Skidding to a stop, I lower my hand, my phone hanging by my thigh, and spinning in place, I surprise Harrison with myheated stare.
“What?” He looks left. Right. He peeks over his shoulder, then brings his gaze back to me again. “What happened?”
“You keep trying to hack Sophia?”
His cheeks blaze, red and embarrassed. “She noticed? That means I got close, huh?”
“I suggest you find a new hobby.” Turning again, I bring my phone up and continue walking.
Me:
He’s very sorry.
Soph:
No, he’s not. He’s got more confidence than he earned, and every time I bat him away, he bounces back again like this is a game.
Most other men would have been neutralized by now, but since he’s a Malone soldier, and I became “friends” with the Malones during our road trip, I’m led to believe killing him would be distasteful.
Tell him to fuck off. I have no interest in teaching him, and I’m running out of patience with his sticky fingers all over my shit. It’s pissing me off.
Me:
I told him to find a new hobby. Hang on a sec.
I lock my screen and stumble forward, clipping my hip on the edge of one of those permanent trash cans the public gets to use, then, crying out, I fall to my knees just two feet in front of aman in loose black shorts and a navy-blue shirt. Dirty blond hair, muddy brown eyes, and thin lips. MihalisSalonen dives forward and grabs my arms.
“Miss? Are you okay?” He helps me to my feet, snatching up my dropped phone and extending it into the space between us. He keeps one hand wrapped around my biceps, brushing the nonexistent dirt from my shirt with the other. My hip. My fucking thigh. “Geez. That was a rough tumble. Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” I’m just a clumsy wench, intimidated by the handsome, devilish, and highly respected forty-something-year-old. “Yowza. Hurt my knee, though.”
“Your knee?” He takes my weight and steers me toward a bench seat about fifteen feet along the path. Helping me sit, he lowers into a crouch and makes himself entirely too fucking comfortable examining my knee. “Oh wow. Looks like this isn’t your first time falling.” He glances up from beneath long, wispy lashes. “Stitches?”
I force a blush onto my cheeks, warm those fuckers, and flirt. “Had them removed just this week. I’msucha klutz.”
“Miss?” Harrison meanders forward, a single questioning brow lifted high on his forehead. “I saw you fall. Are you okay?”
“She’s fine.” Salonen glances up at the man he considers a nosy bystander and fakes a smile. “I got it, bud.”
Harrison’s eyes swing back to mine. “Miss?”
“I feel like such a spectacle,” I giggle.I fucking giggle! “Two lovely gentlemen have stopped to help me, when all I really want to do is disappear. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” Salonen caresses the side of my knee, stroking with the pad of his thumb. “These things happen. It’s too warm to be running this morning, anyway.” Hecompletely ignores Harrison, staring up into my eyes and flashing what he probably assumes is a charming grin. “There’s a coffee shop just one block over. I would love to take you there and buy you a cold drink. They do great protein smoothies, and I can attest they set a man up for an entire day at work. No three o’clock slump.” He stands and straightens his back, angling himself in such a way that he effectively locks Harrison out. “I insist.”
“Oh, gosh.” I move to my feet and pat his big, strong—barfy—chest. “You’re the sweetest.”
