Page 13 of Stitch & Steel
I blinked. “For what?”
“Teaching job. We got a charter school in town. I know people.”
I didn’t say anything at first. I didn’t knowwhatto say.
“Thanks,” I finally said. “But let’s see how the meds go first.”
He just nodded. No pressure. No push.
Just…steady.
“What about you?” I asked. “What do you do for fun when you’re not showing off your knife collection or casting lines at dawn in a leather kutte?”
He looked down at himself. “What, this?”
“You look ridiculous,” I said. “Like a Harley catalog lost its damn mind.”
He scoffed. “I’m practical.”
“You’re wearing boots in knee-deep water.”
“Yeah? And you’re wearing mascara to fish.”
I opened my mouth to argue—and that’s when a cold, slimythinghit me square in the forehead.
I shrieked.
“Logan!” I batted at my face. “Was that a worm?!”
He didn’t even look sorry. Just laughed. Low. Rough. The kind of laugh that stuck to your skin.
I reached down and kicked water at him—hard.
“Oh, it’s on now,” he said.
Within seconds, we were both soaked, laughing like idiots, slapping at waves and splashing enough to scare every fish for a mile.
By the time we finally collapsed onto the dock again, breathless and dripping, the sun had climbed just high enough to burn through the mist. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop shivering.
Then I saw the way he looked at me.
Not at my face.
At myshirt.
Wet. Clinging. Tight.
His eyes darkened a shade.
I turned bright red. “Don’t say a word.”
“I didn’t,” he said, voice lower than before.
“Don’tthinka word either.”
He smirked. “Too late.”
I turned away, trying not to smile.
