Page 70 of Things I Overshared
“What’re you making?” I look at the counter in front of him.
“Toast.” The word cracks and barely makes it out of his throat.Do not smile, do not smile, do not smile.“Toast.” The second time almost sounded normal. He got a good view of my fridge bend and now can see a hint of cleavage from his towering height. It’s not a low-cut tank, but the girls are pushed up in the lined sports bra I chose specifically for this moment. I finally look at his face, but his eyes are definitely not meeting mine.Victory!
His toast pops up, breaking him out of his trance.
“Sounds good, actually.” I reach across him to pull out one piece of toast, which just so happens to cause my right nipple to brush against his left arm. I turn around, feeling his gaze on my backside as I reach for the peanut butter in the cabinet on the top shelf. I stretch up on my toes, but still pushing my butt out a little bit, of course.
I smell him for a second before I’m frozen. Because he’s behind me, caging me in effortlessly as he reaches for the jar. The fabric of his pants barely brushes against the thin spandex of my leggings, but the heat of him consumes me whole. Wanting pools in my center with a force that takes my breath away.
I involuntarily lower my hand and the heels of my feet as he sets the peanut butter on the counter. I want him to linger, to push me against the counter, to say something in my ear, or even better, spin me around and kiss me senseless. I’m shocked by how badly and plainly I want that. Wanthim.But he is gone almost as quickly as he was here. I realize he’s turned back to his toast but still hasn’t taken it out of the toaster.
“Thanks,” I say. My turn to croak.Crap, is that one point for me or for Emerson?
“Mhmm. Thief.” He takes his toast out and sets it on his plate. I turn back to my toast and feel the tension between us as we each doctor our slices. Silent tension gets to me every time.
“Who eats two pieces of toast?!” I blurt. “I’m only carb loading this morning because today is going to be a doozy. There are a million boxes to unpack, displays to assemble and all that. So that’s an arm workout right there. Then there will be so much squatting and lifting, so there’s my core and glutes. And then walking all over the convention center, surely that will add up to a whole Zumba class, don’t you think?”
“No.” His voice is soft behind me.
I give an exaggerated sigh. “Well, then maybe I’ll just have torunaround the stupid convention center.” I turn and look as I take a bite, but he keeps his back to me, taking approximately one million years to fix his toast. I leave the kitchen with my slice to finish getting ready for the day before we head out. I don’t feel his eyes on me as I leave, but I’m still smiling because I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long, hot day for my Frosty.
_________
“Okay. Who are they for? Emerson?” My sister corners me with her whisper yelling the second the group splits up to tackle various jobs around our convention display.
“What?”
She takes off her ridiculous sunglasses, since we are indoors, in a grand convention ballroom that’s bright with fluorescent lighting, as well as chandeliers. She shoots daggers at me. “Don’twhatme. It’s me. Who are the Ass Leggings for?”
“Hey there, Samantha!” We’re interrupted before I have to answer her. By the handsome-as-ever Thomas Gage.
“Thomas, hi.” I smile, blushing at the look he gives me. I’ve added a sweatshirt to my outfit, but since he walked up from behind, he’s had a little show already. I didn’t think about anyone other than Emerson when I put these on, but I guess there are, in fact, other men in the universe. Sadie shoots me a satisfied and obvious smile. “This is my sister, Sadie. Sadie, this is Thomas Gage. He and his brother Tim own Whosits & Whatsits.”
“Of course, Sadie Canton! Wow! Great to meet you. Wow,” he says awkwardly. He did pretty well, considering. She’s been on magazine covers, interview shows, is a regular romance contributor onThe Today Show, and even had a cameo in her first movie adaptation. People tend to lose their heads at the sight of her, which is gorgeous and very put together.
“Likewise. I love your shops. I always find one when I’m here.” She shakes his hand and smiles. I can tell she means it.
“Brilliant, uh, y-yes, well, g-glad to hear it,” he stutters in surprise, and puffing up at the praise from an actual famous person.
“Well, these books won’t sign themselves, I’m afraid. Nice to meet you.” She winks at me as she takes a box—definitely not filled with her books—and retreats to give us space. I’m not sure if I want said space. To his credit, Thomas doesn’t watch her leave. His focus remains on me. His eyes are not as intense as Emerson’s, but they’re also less guarded. It’s a warmer gaze but doesn’t feel nearly as precious, like he hands his lingering looks out freely. Still, I don’t hate it—his eyes trained on me.
I glance around for Emerson, who’s been silent and distant since my kitchen victory, but see no signs of him. He probably positioned himself as far away from me in our exhibition space as he could.
I shake off those thoughts. I can chat with Thomas all I want. I am not Emerson’s. And flirting with a hot guy, who is actually interested in me, does not make me a hussy, despite the whole debacle in Bermondsey.
“Are you guys all set up already?” I ask.
“Almost, but our booth is maybe a quarter the size of the small country you’re setting up here.”
“Yeah . . .” I laugh.
“Tim called from Richmond, actually, says your booth is looking great from there.”
That joke earns him a real, too-loud laugh from me. It feels good and releases some of my tension. I shrug at our display. “That’s the Canton way, I guess—go big or go home.”
“Oh, definitely don’t go home,” he says lowly, smoothly. I smile and look away. “Come see us when you can get a break. I’ve got a new line in I want to show you.”
“All right.” I look back at him, fighting a blush.
