Page 61 of Summer People
“Do you even have handcuffs?”
His pupils blow out, nearly eclipsing his dark irises for half a second. Or maybe I imagined it. I can’t tell. I’m too blinded by the smile that lances his face. “Yes, I do.”
“Oh,” I mutter, at a loss for how to respond and too entranced by the way he’s watching me to think coherently.
“Yeah, oh.” He looks away, that damn smile turning to a smirk, like he’s pleased with himself.
Ishe pleased with himself? Is he—could he be—oh god, I think he’s flirting with me.
“Maybe I really do have a concussion, because I swear you’re smiling, Sheriff.”
He flexes his lips like he’s trying to remove the expression, but it remains in place the rest of the way home.
When we reach the fork in the road that divides our houses, he doesn’t even slow. “Where are you going?”
“You’ll stay at my place.”
“Why can’t we stay at mine?” I’m being difficult for the sake of being difficult. I know that. But I want to shower, and my bed is calling my name.
“Because there’s actual food at my house, and from the sounds of your stomach, you’re hungry.”
I smack his shoulder lightly. “Rude. You’re supposed to pretend you didn’t hear that.”
He chuckles. “Impossible, Princess. I notice everything when it comes to you.” His brown eyes widen, then he shakes his head, like he didn’t mean to say that. “I mean?—”
“Don’t take it back now, Sheriff.” I nod to the ground. “I’ll come to your house, but can I please shower at mine? I promise I’ll be over shortly.”
To my surprise, he eases me to the ground without argument. I work to steady my balance. Not because I feel dizzy this time, but because the move is so unexpected. The man’s yo-yo game must be strong. “All right, then.” I turn and head to my place. “I’ll be over soon.”
When I turn to wave over my shoulder, he barrels into me, grasping my arms to keep me from tumbling. “Jesus.”
“What are you doing?”
The grunt he lets out puts me at ease. This is the Fisher I’ve come to know. “Letting you shower like I said.”
Hand on my hip, I huff. “Thenwhyare you following me?”
“Did you not hear Eddy?” He thumbs over his shoulder. “I need to watch you.”
My mouth falls open. “Fisher—oh my god, I don’t know your last name.”
“Jones,” he says, that smirk twitching at his lips again.
I give him a patronizing smile. “Fisher Jones, you arenotwatching me shower.”
He rolls his eyes and gives me an equally imperious look. “Obviously.”
I drop my hand to my side and a sensation akin to disappointment washes through me. “Then why are you following me?” My voice has less spunk to it now.
He sidesteps me and strides for my house. “I’ll stay outside the bathroom. Just holler if you get dizzy.”
Knowing there is no way he’s going to budge on this—stubborn ass—I stomp up the steps and hold the door for him.Inside, I insist he wait downstairs, but he follows me up the steps, only stopping when we hit my bedroom door.
I survey the room, looking at it through his eyes. It’s simple. I’ve added a pale pink comforter and two pillows since I arrived. One pillow is pink and in teal it saysJust Keep Swimming. The other is teal with pink writing and saysIf it makes you happy…They’re perfect for me, the New Libby. At least for now, while I figure outwhatmakes me happy, I’ll just keep swimming.
The lamp on my bedside table is teal. The table on the other side of the mattress is bare. I didn’t bother buying a second lamp. When it’s only me in the bed, what’s the point?
As I mull that over, it hits me. That would make me happy: theneedfor a second lamp.
