Page 359 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
When I said as much out loud, Summer laughed until she cried real, actual tears, then she pulled up his account and showed me how far off I was.
I understood that Flint was famous.
I didn’t understandhowfamous.
I click out of the photos and drop my phone onto the bed like it’s too hot to touch. A part of me feels like it was a different person in the pool with Flint today. The woman in the photos—it’s not me. Itcan’tbe me. If someone sat me down right now and explained that I was a part of some cutting-edge experiment in which someone else borrowed my body for the afternoon to frolic through the pool with Flint Hawthorne, I would believe it.
And then I would feel relief because it would mean I get to go back to my regularly scheduled life. My work. My research. The woods I know as well as I know my own name. The occasional run-in with my sisters when they insist I need to take off my cargo pants and socialize with humans instead of wildlife every once in a while.
I lean back on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
The only trouble with that scenario is that I actuallyenjoyedswimming with Flint today. I know my sisters think the man walks on water just based on how beautiful he is, and I’ll be the first to admit it—I definitely enjoyed the view he gave me today.
But aside from the abdominal muscles and the nicely sculpted shoulders and the biceps—I definitely have a thing for biceps—he was also really fun to be around. He paid attention to me. Made sure I was comfortable. Teased me in a way thatimmediately put me at ease. Had the afternoon not ended with the wholesnuggling up against him for a picturething, it might have just felt like a fun afternoon with a friend.
That’s what he said, after all.
I had a lot of fun.
Sure. Fun. Until his touch lit my skin on fire and turned my heart inside out.
But was it Flint that did that? Or just the fact that I was being touched by anyone at all?
It has been a very long time since a man has touched me in any kind of intimate way. Since that much of my skin has been in contact with that much of someone else’s skin.
Snatches of sensation flood my mind in rapid succession. His hand curved around my waist. His sun-warmed skin under my palm. The press of his thigh against mine as he pulled me close.
I groan and grab my pillow, using it to muffle the sound as I grumble out my frustration. This is fake.Only fake.I shouldn’t be frustrated about anything.
A knock sounds on my bedroom door. “You okay in there?” Summer calls. “Do I need to call for help?”
I sit up and lunge off the bed and across the room where I yank the door open.
“Whoa. Hey,” Summer says. “What’s with the crazy eyes?”
“Flint told me he had fun this afternoon.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Okay? That’s a good thing, right?”
“And Ialsohad fun.”
“Still not seeing the problem,” Summer says.
I grab Summer’s wrist and pull her all the way into the bedroom, then tug her down on the bed beside me.
“Summer, it felt…I felt…I liked being with him today.”
She gives me a dry look. “Honestly, I think I’d have you committed if you felt anything else.”
“Stop with the movie star stuff. I didn’t like it because he’s a movie star. He could be a normal guy, and I still would have had a good time.”
“Okay, but to clarify, would the normal guy version of Flint Hawthorne include the pool and the house and all the muscles?”
I breathe out a huff of frustration. “You’re missing the point.”
“Then make your point more clearly. What are you trying to say here, Audrey?”
I groan and drop back onto my bed. I have a feeling I’m going to get awfully familiar with the blades of my ceiling fan over the next couple of weeks.
