Page 21 of Afterglow
I rub a hand over my forehead. “Did you do something illegal?”
“Of course not! No,” she says through a dismissive chuckle. “Sorta. Technically…yes.”
Oh, boy.
“Promise,” she urges.
“I promise.”
“Swear to me.” Her pinky extends to me. The woman has me swearing loyalty to her. As if she doesn’t already have it. I hook my little finger into hers, cherishing the warm pressure of her tight hold.
“I pinky swear.”
“I borrowed Landon’s Range Rover.”
I suck in a long breath. “Borrowed?” That’s his most prized possession.
She hisses through her teeth in a cringe and releases our pinkies.
I zip my lips. “Yeah, that secret’s going with me to the grave.”
“It better, or” —she slices her thumb across her throat— “I can handle a knife. Plus, I’m notoriously prone to accidents.”
My groin tightens. No, no, Fletch. This is not the time to be having dark fantasies about Behraz and all the things she could do to you with the edge of a sharp blade. I grab a trash bag and knot the top, holding it in front of me to hide a rapidly growing problem. “I’ll start loading the truck.”
When I return, Behraz kicks the bottom of a clay-stained pottery wheel. “It’s too heavy.”
I peek into a box of painted mugs and bowls sitting next to it. “Did you make these?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking.” Behraz shakes her head. “One whole summer, all I did was make and paint pottery. Thought it was gonna change my life or something.”
“I mean, it’s a cool hobby.”
“I have, like, half a dozen abandoned hobbies. They’re all ‘cool.’” She pores through a few boxes. “I’ve got enough embroidery thread, cloth, and hoops to start a cross-stitching club. Nearly twenty skeins of yarn and countless lines of finger-knitted strands that were supposed to, I don’t know, turn into sweaters or blankets, but I only made one blanket and didn’t get anywhere after.” Her index finger jabs angrily at a box that has its flaps tucked into one another. “This one has a collection of the New York Times’s crossword puzzles. I only got through one book. Somewhere there’s fancy art markers and stress-relieving Mandala coloring books for adults, too.”
“My sister crochets,” I offer, unprompted. “It helps her focus.”
“That’s why I started with this stuff. But I’m so unfocused.” She interrupts herself by moving the box of crossword books. “I can’t even focus on activities that are supposed to help me focus.”
I pull the truck to the rear door and prop it open while she loads a box into the truck, and she returns the favor when I carry out the pottery wheel. She pauses after we’re done, catching her breath while resting her hands on her hips. I struggle not to stare, but the dip of her waist and the swell of her chest under her oversized shirt have a vice grip around my attention.
When she turns…God help me, that ass. And don’t get me started on the dewy pink flush on her cheeks.
“Where will I put all this crap in your apartment? I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”
My mind is far too dirty and well-versed in fictional romance to steer clear of the suggestive wording. Hopefully, my face is red enough from loading boxes that she can’t see me blush.
Don’t say it’ll fit. Don’t say we’ll make it fit.
“It can,uh, go in the spare room.” Sweat trickles down my back, seeping through the cotton of my tee as I lay a tarp over the truck bed. “There are only a couple of bookshelves in there.”
Chapter 8
Am I Ready to Live with This Stunning Man for the Next Two Months Without Touching Myself to Death?
Behraz
“Hey, are we friends now?”
