Page 11 of The Pocket Pair

It’s all I can do to utter a single word. “Liar.”

He sighs. “You’re right. Truth is, I didn’t have any good reason. I felt frustrated, and thought maybe it would help.”

“You need to take better care of yourself, Chevy.”

Or find someone to take care of you.

I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!

“And who’s taking care of you, Tiny?”

Unless I’m reading this wrong—please don’t let me be reading it wrong!—it feels almost like Chevy is offering to take care of me. Or hinting at an offer. I have to be imagining this. Hearing what I’d LIKE to hear. Feeling what I WANT to feel.

Needing more oxygen for my poor, overwrought brain cells, I lean back. But not enough. Because now Chevy and I are definitely standing closer than two friends usually stand. And yet … neither one of us moves. Suddenly, that image from earlier of Chevy at the end of his date comes to mind. Only, now, I’m the one standing in kissing range. I’m the one he’s staring at.

Why doesn’t he step back?

Why don’t I?

In years of crushing on this man, we’ve never, not one time ever, had a moment like this. One where the atmosphere between us is practically alive, where it feels like the precursor to something else. If I had the choice, this moment wouldn’t be happening in CVS.

BUT I WILL TAKE WHAT I AM GIVEN, and this moment is going to fuel my daydreams for months. Maybe for life.

Or, at least, until I find a man I like more than Chevy who actually returns my feelings.

Unless …

Unless nothing. Chevy doesn’t feel like this about me. He’s just standing here because I’m fixing up his hand. Because I’m here. Because …

Because …

Because …

I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus on the conversation we’re having. I grab that thread like it’s a lifeline and try to hoist myself out of the quicksand. “I take care of myself.”

“You sure do.”

I need somewhere to look other than Chevy’s blue eyes. His hand! I drop my gaze, turning his hand over in mine, examining the bandages. They look adorably ridiculous—child’s bandages on his big hand.

“Tiny? Are you okay?”

I meet his gaze again, drawn by the concern in his voice. His eyes are intently focused on me, sending a ribbon of desire rippling through me. “I’m okay.”

“Good. That's—good.”

He licks his lips, and I am SO proud of myself for not glancing down at his mouth. But then he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips glide over my cheek, my ear, my jaw. I am UNDONE.

“If you need anything, anything at all, I’m here for you, Tiny. Always.”

Anything like … a marriage proposal? A kiss to ruin me for all other kisses?

It’s honestly depressing how desperate this one encounter has made me. Chevy gives me a tiny shred of attention and some mild flirtation, and I’m ready to elope.

“I know. You’re one of the good ones, Chev.”

I swear, this moment feels like a kissing moment. Normally, I’m fully aware how one-sided the attraction is. Me—pining after Chevy. Me—thinking about what it would be like to be his. Me—wondering how soft his lips would be and if his perpetual five o clock shadow would leave me with beard burn.

But this moment? It does NOT feel one way. Even as the thought crosses my mind, Chevy’s gaze drops to my lips.

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