Bad Son (Wild Men 3.50) - Page 7
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“Hey,” a girl’s voice says from behind me.
Then comes a loud crash, scaring the fuck out of me, and I drop the rake I’d been using to gather the leaves in the garden, taking a step back.
“Fuck.” I spin around, my heart slamming about in my chest, and find Gigi right outside the fence giving me an apologetic smile. “What the fuck?”
“Um, sorry?” She shrugs, her eyes wide. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I shake my head, struggling to gather my wits. It shouldn’t be so hard, dammit. My ears are buzzing. “What the hell was that noise?”
“Oh. I dropped my backpack and it landed on some empty bottles. And other trash.” She looks down and makes a face. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“How...” I rub my face with both hands. “How did you miss a heap of trash and dropped your bag on it?”
She laughs, a bright, sweet sound. “I was looking at you. I mean...” Her eyes widen again, and her cheeks go red. “Looking for you. Not at you. That’s just...”
The frantic hammering of my heart eases as I stare at her and the meaning of her words seeps in.
“You were looking at me,” I say.
“No, see, that’s the thing. I wasn’t, I was passing by and I just...” She waves her hands back and forth, her face reddening more.
“Ah-huh.” I lift the hem of my T-shirt the wipe the sweat off my face, and her gaze dips to my abs.
She likes what she sees. There’s no denying the pleasure of knowing that. Even if that’s all there is to it, and I know nothing could ever happen between us.
A girl like her with a guy like me... Yeah, no fucking way. So what harm is there in looking, right?
I give her a once-over in my turn, grinning when the blush moves down her pale throat. “Nice.”
“You’re, um. Raking. Leaves.” She swallows, tucks a loose strand behind her ear. “So.”
I arch a brow at her.
“Working in the garden,” she forges on. “Helping out. Which makes sense. That you’d be good at physical stuff. Like, um. You look like you do sports.”
Heh. She’s still checking me out? Sweet.
“Okay, so...” She’s so flustered. Damn cute. Hot. Jesus, I could eat his girl up. I bet she’s sweeter than candies.
Then I remember that guy she’s so hung up on, and my mood sours.
I pick the rake up and lean on it. “I’m not done here.”
Not that I want her gone. Not really, despite the flare of anger and the tightening of my pants and the confusion of wanting a girl I can’t have.
But like every time, her presence calms the
tempest in me. I breathe easier when she’s around. The day seems brighter, warmer.
It’s a fucking mystery.
So when she shrugs and leans away to grab her backpack from the heap of trash she dropped it on, I give up on all pretense and walk over to the fence.
“Wait.” Dammit, how do I get her to stay? After my silences and the flirting, I dunno what to say to her. “Wanna... come in?”
Into the garden. Not the house. But it hits me then that I’ve never invited anyone past the garden gate.
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