Page 69 of I Can't Help It

“I’ll tie your apron strings if you tie mine.”

Only Ava could make that sound suggestive, and I curse myself for blushing.

“Yeah…” I rub the back of my neck. “We can do that.”

She turns around so her back is facing me, and I’m tempted to bury my face in the crook of her neck. Instead, I grab her apron strings with narrowed eyes.

You are in a room full of other people, and you are not going to embarrass yourself or Ava with any sorts of PDA.

My willpower isn’t that strong though, so I give her waist a gentle squeeze after I finish tying the apron strings. But when my hands start to drift lower, I yank them away from her body.

“Okay,” I breathe out, whipping around to face the other direction, “now you can tie mine.”

I hear her light laugh as she takes hold of my apron strings, and I wait in agony for her to actually tie them because her fingertips are teasing my lower back like we have all the time in the world.

I’m aching to feel those fingertips brushing against my bare skin.

If we were by ourselves, would she slip her hands under my shirt and let them wander all over? Would she try to take my shirt off? Would I stop her?

“Luke? I finished tying the strings for you, and the instructor wants to know if we’re ready to start.”

Ready to start.

Right. Pottery.

We’re taking a pottery class. That’s why we tied the aprons on for each other.

All thoughts of wandering hands and Ava trying to undress me should be banished to another universe.

At least for right now, anyway.

Crap, I think I’m blushing again.

I awkwardly clear my throat as I step away from Ava. “I’m totally ready. Let’s do this.”

We sit at the only two unoccupied pottery wheels, and the instructor begins to explain the different parts of them, as well as what tools we’ll be using to make small bowls. Then she tells us to place our blobs of clay on the wheel’s metal plate while our hands are still dry.

Welp.

I move my hand away from the bowl of water that’s next to me. It’s a good thing I didn’t dip my hand in there yet. I always thought your hands needed to be wet for the whole process…

Clearly, this is my first pottery class.

“You’re also going to hit the clay a few times with the palm of your hand,” the instructor tells us while smacking her blob of clay. “Just to make sure it sticks well to the wheel.”

Easy enough.

I give my clay two friendly pats and nod my approval.

The instructor doesn’t look impressed though. “Some of you need to be a little firmer with the clay at this step.”

By “some of you,” she means me.

She’s literally looking right at me.

So, I swat the clay with extra force. And then I mutter a quiet apology for manhandling it.

While the instructor goes over the next steps, Ava leans over and asks, “Did you just say sorry to your clay?”

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