Page 62 of Summer People
I must have hit my head harder than I realized.
With a sigh, I push away the thought of a matching set of lamps for the nonexistent partner in my life and go in search of clothing. I pull sweats and a T-shirt from the dresser, opting for comfort since, apparently, I’ll be up most of the night.
Fisher’s still looming in the doorway, and as I try to exit, he doesn’t budge, so I’m forced to squeeze past him. Fine, if he wants to be that way, I can play this game too.
With my head tipped up so I can watch his every expression, I slide right up against him, my breasts smashing against his chest as I do. He stops breathing and his jaw clicks as he mashes his teeth together. His exhale is harsh, his nostrils flaring. Maybe I’m moving more slowly than I would have if he’d been a gentleman and shuffled out of the way, but if he’s going to mess with me, then he’ll have to suffer the consequences. Inch by inch, I roll myself across him, relishing the way his Adam’s apple bobs and his pupils dilate.
The man wants me. And screwing with him like this is the perfect distraction to the shit show that is my life.
When I finally make it to the bathroom door, I lean out into the hall and waggle my fingers. “See you in a few.”
A half hour later, I’m dressed and sitting at Fisher’s kitchen table while he minces garlic. Watching his arm bounce as he makes each slice is almost relaxing. When he turns and drops the garlic into the pan, making it sizzle to life, I can’t help but ogle his ass.
He gives the garlic a quick stir, then spins and eyes me. “You’re falling asleep.”
I blink slowly and yawn. “I’m just sitting here.”
“Stay awake,” he says gruffly. I almost wonder if he says things so simply because he just expects people to listen. Like he could will my body into doing his bidding. Though only for an instant, because the thought quickly has my mind veering to images of other ways he could speak to my body. Now there’s no way I could fall asleep. Though in my attempt to hide the flush that’s rising up my chest, I lay my head against my shoulder.
A second later, I’m startled upright again when he barks, “You need to stay awake. Talk to me.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “About what?”
“Tell me something.”
“Why don’t you tell me something?” I fight back.
“Fine. A question for a question.” He looks over his shoulder at me, one brow arched like he’s waiting for me to agree.
I offer him a simple nod, eager for him to focus on what he’s making before he notices how flushed I am.
Humming to myself, I inspect the room. “Why do you hate living here?”
Those eyes of his are on me again. “Why do you think I hate living here?”
I jut my chin. “Is that your question?”
“No.”
“So then answer mine.”
Finally, he turns again, his back rising, then slowly falling like he’s letting out a slow breath as he browns the steak.
“Don’t sugarcoat it,” I remind him.
Between one breath and the next, the air shifts, and suddenly he’s spewing words, though he’s still not facing me.
“This wasn’t supposed to be my life. I never planned to come back here. Before my brother”—his body stiffens—“Before the accident, I lived in Boston.” He half turns and stares me down. “Don’t get me wrong. I love Sutton more than anything.That’swhy I’m here. Because she needs me. But I never planned to be a father. Or a winter lobsterman or a pretend sheriff.” His shoulders fall. “I don’t like people. And they’re everywhere here.”
“There are only sixty-nine of us,” I say softly.
“And sixty-seven of them are all up in my business,” he grumbles.
I sit up straighter. “Hey, you made me sit here. I wanted to stay home.”
“Didn’t include you, Princess. You have to know by now that you’re different.” With a frown, he stares at me for a beat too long. “I seem to always want you around.”
The admission makes my stomach flip. Those butterflies I’d thought had been extinguished are now back to flapping wildly, and the room seems to have taken on a hazy pink hue.
