Page 85 of Any Second Now
Apparently, It’s a Lot
ATTICUS
Wednesday, July 16
“Two hundred thousand views? Is that a lot?”
“Seriously?” Raleigh asks, her jaw dropping open.
I chuckle, happily swaying in the hammock next to the Pink Palace, arms stretched above my head. Raleigh is sitting in a captain’s chair next to me. I guess I know two hundred thousand views is a solid amount.
“Come on, get in here with me.” I hold out my hand, palm up.
“Atticus, I’ve gottentwenty-one ordersin the past three days. That’s almost as much as I’ve had in total before the video.” She glances down at my extended hand and appears to consider.
“Well, congratulations.”
“How am I going to fulfill so many orders?” Raleigh pulls at her hair and it sticks out on one side. She points at me. “It’s all because of that video and you sharing it so casually on your social media. You have a few hundred thousand followers. Or more?” Raleigh stands, tosses her phone on the chair, and takes a tentative step toward me, hands on her hips.
“I have no idea how many followers I have. I’m so sorry. Let me make it up to you.” I crook my finger at her.
She rolls her eyes but places her hand in mine anyway. Warmth cascades through her fingers onto my skin.
I guess I didn’t really think it through when I shared the painfully adorable video of Raleigh teaching me how to do cross-stitch. The video immediately got hundreds of likes and many comments. I’m not in the habit of reading my comments, or even posting very much. I only do it when the team PR person—my sister—harasses the team to put ourselves out there in a positive light.
But I am loving the wondrous look on Raleigh’s face as orders pile up. Like the look she has right now as she stands next to the hammock, hand in mine.
The past few days with Raleigh have been everything. I’ve adored every moment with her.
Even hockey is going better. I’ve been meeting with Lachlan and Barrett to skate and scrimmage and I don’t hate Barrett as much as I did before. It’s like exposure therapy. He’s still cocky and insufferable. Loud and obnoxious. A partier. A player.
And he sort of reminds me of myself from five years ago.
Probably why I—strongly dislike?—him.
Nah, it’s probably still hate.
“I’m going to have to temporarily close my shop while I catch up.”
“No way. Don’t do that.” I tug her closer and she steps so she’s hovering right over me.
“Or I guess I could put a note in my confirmation email saying the time to shipping is longer than usual.” Raleigh purses her lips to one side. “Like weeks more.”
Contemplative Raleigh is so hot. My eyes drift down to her gray tank top, tight against her breasts, and her pink short shorts with the white stripe down the side.
“Lean down on my chest and then very slowly lift your legsup.” I adjust my body so I’m diagonal on the hammock. I haven’t been able to keep my hands off of this woman, and today is no exception.
Raleigh leans over and places her hands on either side of my neck onto the fabric of the hammock. I breathe out at her closeness. I slip my hands around her waist and tug her up, but the hammock swings precariously and she gasps and freezes.
“We’re good, I won’t let you fall.” I chuckle and pull her up until she’s laying flush on top of me, her legs securely on the hammock.
“This is the worst possible idea. And position,” she says, her hair hanging on either side of her face.
“Don’t worry.” I cup her ass—so accessible through the soft fabric of her shorts—and press her down gently. “The best position. I bet we could slip these shorts off you and christen this hammock right here, right now.”
“Oh my god.” She shakes her head, violently at first, then stops when the hammock swings. “My neighbors are right there. They’re probably watching us from their window.” But she relaxes onto me, her body molding to mine.
“Let’s give them a show, then.” I slip my hands into her shorts and start to shift one hand to her front. She gasps.
