Page 41 of Pretty Heartache

He’s kept up his use of my nickname, and I haven’t had the energy to correct him. Or maybe I haven’t wanted to. Somethingabout the way he says it is different than the way he used to say it when I was a kid.

“Morning,” I mutter around a mouthful of granola.

His heated stare falls to my legs.

I sit behind the counter and cross them, thankful I was mindful enough to make sure I was wearing more than just my T-shirt downstairs. The first time I came down here with just my sleep shirt on, I was completely bare underneath it.

We haven’t spoken since yesterday, when he yelled at me in front of the entire crew. I couldn’t confirm whether he was telling the truth about the man jerking off behind me, but it didn’t matter. He scolded me like a child, and I was thrust back to that day at the pool when I was eleven years old.

I want to be angry with him now, and I open my mouth to call him out on his behavior but stop when he lifts his leg and places his foot on the stool beside me.

He bends over, lacing up his boot. “I’m going to get started on the garden today.” Once he’s finished tying the first, he does the same with the second. He flicks his gaze up to mine.

Fine. We’re pretending yesterday never happened. Got it.

“Okay,” I choke out. Granola hits the back of my throat, and I cough.

“Thought you might want to help.” He shrugs one shoulder. His blue-gray eyes deepen, still heavy with secrets, but I’m beginning to see the cracks.

“I’m meeting Ember for lunch,” I tell him. “I was just about to go shower.”

He drops his foot and stands with his hands firmly planted on his hips. “Do you need a ride?”

“No. She’s picking me up.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “Well, have fun.”

Short pleasantries, but the silence speaks loudly.

“Thanks.”

My eyes fall to his mouth. He sticks his tongue out and sweeps it across his bottom lip.

Electrifying heat pools between my legs. It hums across my skin.

“I should get going or else Ember will kill me.” I need to get out of this kitchen and away from Micah. My thoughts are going to places they shouldn’t be going.

“Oh, yeah.” He wraps his hand around the back of his neck, then turns around and places his hand on the handle to the sliding back door.

“Wait!” I blurt out, walking over to the refrigerator. I grab one of the bottles of water I’d placed in there earlier this week and hand it to Micah. “For when you’re thirsty. There’s supposed to be record heat today. You should stay hydrated.”

His eyes fall to the bottle before he reaches out to take it from me. Our fingers brush against one another.

He doesn’t respond. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and delivers me a small smile of appreciation.

I let him take it and leave the kitchen before I explode. I picture him following me and lifting me up to wrap my legs around his waist. I imagine him whispering in my ear, telling me I’m a ‘good girl’for finally listening to him.

I imagine the taste of his lips on mine, practically stealing my breath away. I reach the top of the stairs and stop. My legs are wobbly, and I feel like I’m losing the strength to stand. Pressing my back to the wall, I close my eyes and breathe, listening to the sound of the back door sliding open before it shuts again.

Once I’ve regained my bearings, I head straight for the shower. Since all the other bathrooms in the house are undergoing some sort of renovation, Micah and I are forced to share the one connected to my bedroom. His towel hangs off the hook bolted into the wall. His razor sits beside his toothbrush and half-used tube of toothpaste on the large, marble vanity.

I strip down and step into the shower almost immediately. Once the water is scorching hot, I allow the heat to beat against my skin, and I bury my face in my hands to force the sinful thoughts of my brother’s best friend away.

Once I’m all wet, I wash my hair, run my razor quickly over my legs, and move onto washing my body. I grab my bright pink pouf and reach for my body wash but stop when I see Micah’s next to it. The tall blue bottle sits in the corner of the shelf. I pop the top and bring it to my nose, breathing in the scent of cedarwood.

This is exactly how Micah smells every time I see him, when he’s finished working outside before he joins me for dinner. This is Micah’s signature scent.

I squeeze a dollop onto my pouf and pop the cap back closed before returning the bottle back to its home next to mine.

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