Page 23 of The Forces of Love

She dusted off her hands and turned to Mitch, only then recognizing the song he was humming.

“The least you could do is hum something good, like ‘Bye Bye Bye.’”

“That’s ridiculous. Clearly Backstreet is the better group. They’ve lasted way longer.”

“Low blow. You know the whole Lou Pearlman thing fucked upCelebrity’srelease.”

“Man, JC was so undervalued on that album. But I’m not arguing this with you; Backstreet is better. Full stop. End of discussion.”

Sophie poked him in the ribs where she’d learned he was the most squeamish. “They’ve never even had a number one hit.”

Mitch gave her the stink eye. “They’ve also never ruined the Super Bowl halftime show in the most misogynistic way possible.”

“Okay, yeah, that was bullshit. Janet Jackson deserved better.”

“Damn right she did.”

Mitch stretched his back, and they both winced as it cracked in multiple places. “You know, I heard Annette say something about a ’90s quiz next week. You should ask her about it.”

Suddenly, the shelf in front of Sophie was the most fascinating thing in the room. Maybe she should come in here and dust more. “Mm-hmm.”

Mitch huffed a laugh behind her. “Okay, okay, fine. Stay on your island. We peasants will stop bothering you.”

And wow, that hurt more than she could have anticipated.

Except, she did kind of deserve it.

Yesterday, when Colin had started telling her about a laser tag game room, she’d faked cramps and had run in the opposite direction. When in doubt, menstruate. It was the greatest conversation killer she’d ever found. Though, knowing Mitch, if she tried it with him, he’d make up a Tampax jingle or sketch “Periodite,” the goddess of the red river.

Okay, maybe that would be alittlefunny.

If only kissing him had gotten him out of her system. The hopeful look in his eyes when he’d asked her out should have been enough to stop her from reminiscing about the forceful grip of his hands, the soft pillow of his lips, the clean, intoxicating smell of his skin.

Dammit.

Maybe a kiss wasn’t enough.

Maybe if they slept together…

No.

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Except, if she could get Mitch to agree it was only casual, then maybe… maybe it could work.

And she could finally stop feeling things about him.

Sophie snuck a look over, watching as he picked up the last box, his long, nimble fingers, broad palms, wiry forearms. She’d felt his sturdiness when he’d caught her as she tumbled off the ladder. All his fidgeting must serve as a sort of constant exercise.

Either way, she couldn’t stop herself from wanting those hands on her again. She couldn’t repress the memory of how deftly he’d handled her on the elevator.

Heat spread through her skin, pooled between her thighs. He was incredibly sexy. It wasn’t an arrogant sexiness, like some guys she’d slept with, born from a lifetime of boasting. No, this was inherent. Respectful and unassuming. Mitch might not always say the right thing — in fact, he frequently said the wrong thing— but he wasn’t a pushover, and he knew when to cede ground.

And… shit.

He was actually listening to her. Respecting her boundaries like she’d asked. Which, yes, fantastic. Consent was sexy, but she had secretly hoped he’d try.

That’s just how they were.

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