Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

“Hey,” a deeply masculine voice, a familiar one, hollers from somewhere behind me.

I am no longer alone––nor am I reveling. We’ve been getting along so well I’m almost scared to be in his company for too long lest I tempt him into behaving badly again. He walks around my beach chair and stands directly in my line of sight. Call me psychic because something tells me I won’t be doing any reading today.

“Heeeyyy,” I return since it happens to be his favorite word. Mine is underscored by a sad note of longing, though. I squint up at him, shielding my eyes from the sun under the roof of my hand.

Hendricks eyeballs my face. Then his bright blue eyes work their way down my tank top to my shorts, and further south to my legs. And this is where things get interesting. It’s not in a sexual way. More like he’s inspecting my clothes to make sure they meet his approval. From the start, he has had no qualms about openly examining me and goes about it as if it’s his natural-born right.

I don’t get it. I. Do not. Get it. Who gave him this right? I must be dumber than I thought because somebody needs to mansplain it to me slowly.

“Where’s Roxy?” She follows him everywhere now, his own personal entourage.

“Inside, getting her beauty sleep.”

I see he still hasn’t learned how to dress himself. No shirt. Every muscle on his massive chest on full display. Though, Lord have mercy, what’s even more dangerous are the sagging swim trunks. The v that leads all eyes to Rome is level with my face. I can’t even keep my head straight without it getting weird. And now I’m getting a strain in my neck.

“Did you just…” I utter in disbelief, my face without a shadow of a doubt showing all the suffering I’m currently experiencing. “Did you just flex your pecs at me?”

“No,” is his simple, straight-faced reply. Liar, he totally did.

“Gosh, you’re weird.”

This provokes a huge grin out of him. He holds out a bag of almonds and I decline with a wave. He’s been eating much better lately. No more takeout. I found fresh fruits and vegetables in the fridge. I’ve even caught him in the gym working out.

He almost always eats dinner with us and seems perfectly content to listen to Sam babble about video games and the Lego villages he had to leave in our apartment in the city. Sometimes he asks questions so I know he’s still listening long after I’ve already tuned Sam out. I dare say I’m quietly hopeful that this peace accord is permanent.

Grabbing a handful, he throws them in his mouth and chews, and chews, and chews, his perceptive eyes still on me. This makes me reasonably nervous.

That stare of his is unnerving. Knowing what the quarterbacks of the opposing teams see coming at them makes me send up a thank you to God that Calvin plays on the same team. Not for nothing he’s the NFL sack leader for linebackers four years in a row.

“Can you please stop perving out on me?”

He smirks, his gaze cutting to my Kindle. Without thought, I lower it, clutching it safely against my breasts. Okay, yes, I’m self-conscious about people seeing what I’m reading. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am. I don’t like to be judged. I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. And if he gets an inkling of what’s on here, I will never hear the end of it.

“What are you reading?” His head tilts. More almonds meet their untimely demise.

“Nunya business.”

He slow-nods, a sly little smile flashing on and off his gorgeous, slappable face.

The Kindle is snatched out of my hand in a blink. The dang thing is out of my hands before I even realize what’s happening. It’s amazing that a six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-forty-pound man can move as fast as he does. And yes, I looked that up.

Shrieking, I blast out of my beach chair, and kicking up sand, chase after him. A few folks walking along the shoreline turn to see what all the fuss is about and when they determine it’s only two idiots fighting over a piece of electronic equipment they continue on their walk.

I lunge for it and the beast straight-arms me, planting the fat heel of his palm on my forehead, his long fingers curling over the top of my head. While I’m grasping at thin air, arms flailing, he keeps me at bay with the damn heel of his palm to my forehead. This is exactly what I had in mind for my peaceful half hour of “me” time.

“What’s this we got here?” he says, sly grin still in place.

“Give it back, you ass!” I shout at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t care less who hears me at this point. This fucker has my Kindle. Heads will roll.