Page 61 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

Despite my insistence that I was fine, that he could leave me to it and head home, Calvin didn’t leave.

He didn’t sit his ass down and rest his leg, either. Instead, dressed in only his skin-tight boxers, he worked with me to clean up the salon and restock everything for tomorrow. He even did a few of the odd jobs that we had lying around. He put a picture frame back up that fell down a couple of months ago, and he put up the new shelves Bea bought to house our ever-growing collection of nail gel bottles.

Honestly, the sight of him in nothing but his underwear and a drill should be illegal. It’s been safely stashed away in my bean bank for later, that’s for sure.

What would have probably taken me two hours alone took only one with his help, so I can’t really complain. But I’d be lying if I said my blood wasn’t boiling.

I swear, every few minutes I caught him paying more attention to me than whatever I’d tasked him with. And every time our eyes connected, the air crackled with the same chemistry I felt when he leaned in to kiss me.

There’s a part of me that can’t help wondering what would have happened if I let him. Would we have gotten it out of our systems? Or would it have made it worse?

There’s no denying that I’m attracted to him physically. And from what I’ve learned from getting to know him better over the last week or so, I kinda like who he is as a person, too. But I still can’t let myself go there. Calvin Keller screams heartbreak, and I refuse to put myself through that.

“What’s next, boss?” Calvin teases, having finished restocking the cotton pads at the nail stations.

I look around, assessing our progress. “I think we’re done, actually.”

Excitement glitters in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Your clothes should be dry by now, too.”

“And there I was thinking you preferred me like this,” he says, suggestively dragging his palm over his chest and abs.

“I like you just fine with your clothes on,” I mutter, taking off toward the back room and leaving him watching me go.

I only get a few seconds of relief before he shuffles in after me.

“You need to rest that leg,” I chastise as he lowers himself to the couch and instantly rubs it like it’s aching.

“Movement is good,” he says.

“Hmm,” I mumble as I pull his clothes from the dryer, trying to ignore the way his scent radiates from them. “Here,” I say, handing the warm fabric over.

“Thanks.”

While he dresses, I pull more wet towels from the washer and stuff them into the dryer, getting it going for what feels like the millionth time today.

“Have you had enough to eat?” Calvin asks. When I spin around, I find him gazing down at the leftover pizza. “You only had one slice.”

“I’m trying to be good,” I explain.

I instantly regret my words, because his eyes drop from mine in favor of my body. It isn’t a quick glance; he takes his time, ensuring he’s fully assessed every inch of me.

“You’re looking more than good to me,” he says, his eyes a shade darker than they were a few seconds ago.

Irritation licks through me. What is it about men who think our only reason to look a certain way is to appeal to them? Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck what any man says about my body. It’s my body, and the only person on this planet who needs to be happy with it is me.

“I don’t really give a fuck what you think,” I snap before stalking toward where I hung my coat and stashed my purse earlier.

I pull my coat on and hook my purse over my shoulder, all the while Calvin’s stare burns into the back of my head.

“What?” I bark when I turn around and find him still staring at me.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It doesn’t matter what I think. But for the record, you’re banging just the way you are.”

My body instantly betrays me, desire unfurling as heat surges toward my thighs.