Page 25 of Every Bit As Perfect
My mouth fell open but I snapped it shut just as quickly.“Feeling cocky, are we?”I laughed and held up my hand at the sight of his grin, “Nope!Don’t you dare go there!”
“Oh, so you can talk about your toys, but I can’t talk about my,” he paused, grinning wickedly, “toy?”
I shrugged.“Hey, you play with it all you want.”
He barked out a laugh.“Sit down, little spitfire,” he ordered with a wide smile.“And tell me all about your educated guess.”
I sat up straight and laced my hands together primly in front of me.Just like a good girl would.I needed to throw him off track.If he wanted to flirt, I could do it with the best of them.
“I’m ready, Sir.”I pursed my lips.“What was your question again?”
His lazy grin faded away as his eyes dropped to my mouth.
I allowed them to soften while I mentally high-fived myself.
But when his gaze only sharpened on my lips and remained there as he picked up his beer and took a swig, my stomach flipped.
I was out of my league.
I edged back from the table, slowly pulling my hands down to my lap.My lips parted and my chest rose with my inhale.
Locked in a silent communication for which I didn’t know the words, I failed to form a coherent thought.
He put his beer back down and met my eyes.
The heat in his hitching my breath.
I swallowed, my exhale shaky.I’d never been so turned on in my entire life.
Satisfaction softened the lines of his face, and he murmured softly, “So you are a good girl.”
Flustered, I turned my face away looking for my unfortunately absent sharp retort.
“Max,” he called out.“We’re over here.”
I blew out a breath of relief and studiously avoided his gaze.
“Harley.”
I looked up, a polite smile pasted on my face.
“I won’t push.”
My shoulders relaxed.We were better as friends.It was good he acknowledged that.
His eyes dropped to my mouth for a moment before returning to my eyes as he muttered, “Not too hard.”
9
Raincheck
Withchefson-site,itwasn’t often my parents broke out the barbecue.But when they did?It was a not-to-be-missed event.
Labour Day was one of those annual events.
It marked both an ending and a beginning.
It had been a long time since I’d been a student, but Labour Day weekend still marked the bittersweet end of summer and the fresh start of a new school year with the smell of crisp, unsullied paper, HB pencils sharpened to a pristine point, and musty old textbooks.
