Page 17 of Sticky Situationship

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Oh, and bring cupcakes!” she calls over her shoulder.

“She’s…” Brock starts as she waves before disappearing into the elevator.

“A lot, I know.”

He turns, and when our eyes meet, time grinds to a screeching halt. Brock’s gray gaze searches mine, as if he’s hunting for even a hint of an opening. And there’s no denying the feelings for him churning in my chest, despite what I know. And, try as I might, I can’t ignore the flush sweeping through my body. My pulse quickens in automatic response to his familiar presence.

But just as I’m about to say something—anything—to break the silence, my timer goes off.

“That’s my oven timer,” I say with a lame wave toward the kitchen.

The corners of his mouth lift, forming an irresistible, playful smile. “Good girl.”

Brock

Libby spins on fuzzysock-covered feet and rushes to the oven, her messy bun of unruly curls bobbing. The scent of vanilla fills the air, but it’s nothing compared to the intoxicating hint of her familiar floral shampoo. I follow inside, my heart racing as I close the door behind me.

Suddenly, a sharp hiss escapes her lips as a pan of cupcakes clatters onto an electric coil on the range.

“Shit!” Libby yanks her hand back, cradling it in a dishtowel against her chest.

I’m at her side in an instant, closing the oven door with my foot.

“Let me see.” I reach for her hand, eyeing the damp terrycloth towel she used as an oven mitt with disdain.

“I’m fine,” she insists, turning away and inspecting her finger. “It’s barely first-degree.” The stubborn set of her jaw is achingly familiar. This is the Libby I know and love. Even hurt, she’s determined to handle everything on her own.

“Libby, please,” I breathe. “I am trained paramedic with extensive experience with burns. Let me help you.”

For a moment, I’m sure she’s going to refuse again. Then her shoulders slump, and she turns back, extending her hand. The pad of her index finger is already turning an angry red, and I wince, even as I want to smile. Because she’s letting me in. There’s still hope she’ll listen to me tonight.

“Come on,” I murmur, guiding her to the sink. As I turn on the cold water, I press closer, unable to resist the yearning deep inside to reconnect with her after these last few days apart.

She hisses as the water hits her burn but doesn’t pull away. I hold her wrist gently in my grasp and stroke the soft skin of her pulse point with my thumb. God, I’ve missed touching her. Missed seeing her. Missed everything about her.

“What would your girlfriend think if she saw you now?” she asks, but there’s no bite to her words.

I look down, my heart breaking at the sight of the dark circles under her eyes and the tension in her shoulders. She’s beautiful, even exhausted and stressed. In part, thanks to me and my lies.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, Libby.”

Her emerald eyes narrow. “Did you break up with her?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I know what my mom said, but I need to explain.”

She flinches and tries to draw away. I don’t want to let her go, but I release my grip and watch as she shuts off the water and circles the counter, putting distance between us even in this tiny space.

“Fine,” she insists with an icy edge in her tone. “Tell me. The truth.”

I press both palms flat on the counter and hold her gaze. “There was no girlfriend. There’s only been you.”

She blinks, confusion replacing the guarded look in her eyes. “But Dr. Novak said…”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I lied to her, to my family. I told them I had a girlfriend, so they’d stop trying to set me up.”

“Dr. Novak, er…I mean, your mom tried to set you up?” The words are laced with amusement. And incredulity.

“A dozen times, at least. And my sister, too. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Not when, from the moment I met you, I knew there was no one else for me.”

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