Page 36 of Summer People
I shake my head. Nope. Sutton would never let Libby skip play practice. If I show up and admit to leaving Libby halfway to the school, my niece will hit me with that awful side-eye. So, begrudgingly, I spin, offering her my back. “Okay, hop on, Little Miss Drama Queen.”
“On?” she asks, her voice quiet.
“Yes. I’ll give you a ride.” I back up another step, arms out.
She doesn’t, in fact, hop on. And she’s silent for so long I’m certain she’ll choose death by spider over having to touch me. But just as I’m sighing in disappointment, she slips her hands over my shoulders. Hesitantly, she leans her chest against me, and when her full tits press into my back, I can’t stop the way my breath catches. God, the feel of her against me is better than I remember. Warm and soft and so damn sweet. When she loops her legs around my waist, it feels like I swallowed my own tongue.
It isn’t until she clears her throat that my brain finally engages and I grasp her thighs to steady her. Fuck. The warmth of her seeping through her leggings is enough to unravel me, and when her breath dances across my neck, my knees wobble, and I’m certain she can feel my heart hammering.
I don’t want to like Libby. I don’t want to want her. But in this second, with her wrapped around me, it feels like the two of us are exactly where we should be.
“You sure you can make it up the hill like this?” she asks, probably because I haven’t moved in at least ten seconds.
I clear my throat. “Of course I can.” Adding a little extra grumble, I turn and head up the steepest part of the hill to the school. Despite the pitch, it’s an easy climb. The woman is so small I could carry her for miles. I could carry her forever. And fuck if I don’t want to.
I clench my jaw. I can’t think like that. Even if Libby survives an entire Monhegan summer, she’s leaving as soon as fall rollsaround. Summer people don’t stay into the fall. I can’t forget that.
“I heard you fixed my satellite. Thank you.”
Yeah, I rewired the dish, but the cut wire and her lame explanation don’t sit well with me. Not when I factor in the issue with her pilot light.
I could lie and say the only reason I care is because my niece spends as much time with Libby as she can, and if someone is messing with Libby, Sutton could get caught up in it, but it’s so much more than that. The idea of someone hurting this woman I can’t get out of my head feels like a sharp knife to my gut.
I can’t picture anyone here trying to scare her off like that. Yeah, they might grumble that she’s summer people, but we all know those summer people keep this island going.
“Did you think any more about who might have it out for you?”
“Yeah.” She adjusts her arms around my neck, her fingers ghosting over my chest and sending a ripple of need through me. Fuck. Does she have any idea what she’s doing to me? Probably. She’s probably relishing the ability to torture me. “Doris from the store.”
“Not likely.” I shift her slightly, and when her fingers halt their movement, I’m both relieved and disappointed.
With a deep sigh, she sinks against me. “She’s been nothing but mean since I arrived. Yeah, she’ll happily take my money for anything on the shelves, but she refuses to put in my order with everyone else’s.”
I choke back a growl. I need to have a conversation with Doris. That doesn’t make any sense.
“The woman is terrified of heights. She won’t even use a step stool at the store. There is no way she’d climb on your roof.”
“Then I don’t know.” Libby shifts, rubbing her body against mine, and I fight the groan trying to work its way up my throat. Carrying her was such a mistake.
The worst part? She doesn’t seem even the least bit affected by me.
Fisher, you’re a fucking idiot. Why would she be? She’s gorgeous and so damn sweet. She could do so much better than the island grump.
Before I can spiral into a storm of self-pity, she rests her palms against my chest, her hands trembling. Almost like she’s afraid…
“How about you tell me what happened to make you leave LA?” I suggest, needing to know now more than ever.
When her only response is a quick inhale, I go on, trying to make the question easier.
“Is there anyone back in California who might be upset with you?”
“I’m not talking about it with you,” she hisses, her body tensing.
I tense too. Because shit, that was the opposite of denying a problem. It was damn near confirmation that there is an issue, and I know myself well enough to know I will not be able to let it go.
She releases me and squirms out of my hold. When I spin to look at her, her arms are crossed and she’s glaring past me, unwilling to meet my eye.
“Why is that such an upsetting question?” She’s clearly deflecting. She absolutely has something to hide. “I’m just trying to help you.”
