Bulldozer (Hard to Love 3)

He thinks this is hilarious. The laughter starts up again. Which only stokes my sense of injustice. “All I wanted to do was read! That’s all I wanted to do.” The pressure behind my eyes builds. Embarrassingly, I really am on the verge of tears.

He takes another look at my face and his smile collapses, as if someone kicked out the scaffolding holding it up.

“I am so stressed about the studio I can’t even breathe and all I wanted was a measly half hour to read about Ben and Jake’s forbidden fucking love affair in peace! And now you’ve ruined my Kindle.” I shake it at him. “You ruin everything.”

I stomp away as the tears I’ve been holding back make a break for it, racing down my cheeks. I’m embarrassed and tired, that’s all. That’s what I tell myself. I’m not frustrated. I’m not strangely attracted to him and equally want to see him disappear from the face of the earth forever. That would be madness.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” he says, taking gentle hold of my arms and spinning me around. The amusement his voice held a moment ago has vanished. His expression now is very serious and very determined. Wonderful. All I need for him is to be determined. That’s about as appealing as a determined yeast infection.

Sniffling, I do my best to wipe away the evidence of my weakness with my shoulder. The next thing I know, I’m being crushed to his bare chest, the fine hair tickling my cheek.

Oddly, my first thought is that he smells good. Like coconuts and soap and something distinctly male. Masculine. Manly. Sperm, maybe? Healthy, robust sperm.

“You smell like coconuts,” I sniffle.

A beat later, I hear, “Sorry?”

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“Uh…thanks.”

“No, that’s––forget it.”

“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was just teasing. I’ll get you ten Kimbles.” His voice is strained and he sounds confused. As if he has no idea why I could possibly be upset…Men.

His warm hand lands in the middle of my back and makes slow circles. It feels good––too good. I can’t even remember the last time a man held me, let alone to comfort me. Maybe never. Yeah, probably never.

His hand glides over my shoulder blade and cups the back of my neck, hitting a kill switch I had no idea existed. I immediately go boneless in his arms. Warmth spreads through me. It’s so relaxing I feel drugged––and comforted. He smells of sperm and coconuts and makes me want to snuggle closer and I’m officially losing it.

“I’ll fix it. I’ll have them sent over from…uhh…”

“Amazon,” I supply, though it sounds more like Abafon with my face smashed against his pecs.

“Right. Amazon. I’ll have ten Kimbles overnighted in case I ruin another one. No need to cry.”

I nod and pull away, head bent low. I’m feeling embarrassed and vulnerable and the chores still need to get done so I head back to fetch the beach chair. Grant follows a step behind, taking it from me as soon as I finish folding it up. He grabs his empty almond bag from where it fell and we begin walking back to the house.

“I’m going food shopping. Can I get you anything?”

The walking-on-eggshells thing is starting already. This never happened. The only way forward, the only way we can continue to live together without the awkwardness consuming me is to pretend he never held me and I didn’t hold him back. That I didn’t like being in the arms of a man that is absolutely off-limits.

I feel a hand wrap around my wrist and look up. His expression is a touch uneasy. “I’ll go to the store. Make a list and––”

“No. That’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he insists in a quiet voice, his forehead puckering like it does when he’s in deep thought. “You get some rest.”

When he’s being nice, all my defenses disintegrate. I just hope he never figures that out.

“Mommy, my stomach hurts.” That’s the first thing Sam says when he barrels through the front door hours later.

Walking in behind him, Ronan looks exasperated, his hair even wilder than it usually is. Sam wraps his arms around my waist and hides his face in my t-shirt. I rub his back and guide him to the kitchen to get started on my homemade remedy of chamomile tea, lemon juice, and honey.

“Can you please wait so we can talk?” I ask Ronan as I’m taking Sam upstairs to lie down. He nods and we continue to Sam’s bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, after my brew has settled his stomach, I return to the living room to find Grant sitting in one of the oversized armchair across from Ronan reading on his iPad.

Uh-oh.

No one’s talking but there’s a whole lot of communicating going on. I’m too tired to even ask Grant to leave and going by his expression he has no intention to do so.