“To the cleaners?” I ask, lifting a brow.

“I’m not putting those greasy things in my washing machine,” she gags. “They stink too.”

“Um, fun fact, Slugger: you take those to a dry cleaners and they’ll laugh your ass right out of there.”

“Do you just throw them away then?”

“There’s about fifty bucks’ worth of towels. No, I don’t throw them away,” I say like she’s crazy. “We take them over to Suds N Spins and wash them there.”

“That’s a . . . what do you call it?”

“A laundromat? Haven’t you had to do laundry there before? When your washer broke or at college or something?”

“Um, nope. But I’ll take these there. What do I need to know?”

“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. “You’ve never been to a laundromat?”

“No. So what?”

“So who even are you?”

Something crosses her features as a hand goes to her hip. “Do you want me to take them or not?”

There’s a laugh ready to expel, a reaction to how adorably sexy she is when she’s all riled up and challenging me back. Not because I’ve never been challenged, but because I don’t think anyone has ever given a fuck to actually help me and not gotten frustrated when it’s not easy.

I bite back the reaction and instead answer her question. “I’ll get to it.”

“Why are you so hard-headed?”

“Me?” I ask.

“Yes, you.” She points a white-tipped fingernail my way. “I’m trying to help you out. The least you can be is nonjudgmental.”

“I’m not being judgmental.”

“Yeah, you are.”

As I take a step forward, she takes one back. Then another. And another until her back is against the wall. Her chest rises and falls at a spectacular speed, her blue eyes sparkling in the sunshine streaming through the window. Just standing this close to her, feeling her body this close to mine, is enough to fray any sensibilities I’ve managed to hold on to.

With the most caution I’ve ever used, I drag the back of my hand down her cheek. Her skin is soft, the quiet intake of breath so perfect that I find myself forgetting where I am.

God, I want to give in. I want to dip my head down to hers and kiss the fight right out of her. She would be so perfect in my hands as I pin her to the wall, feel her body squirm against mine as our bodies press together and she moans in to my mouth.

“Damn it,” I groan, my voice more haggard than I wanted it to be as I drop my hand away from her face. “Why are you so frustrating?”

“I don’t mean to be.”

It’s not the words, but the way she whispers them that shoots through me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, forcing my feet backwards.

She sags against the wall, her fingers flexing against her sides. She searches my eyes, almost desperately, and my stomach sinks right along with her shoulders.

“What are you sorry for?” she asks.

“Nothing.” I twist around and snatch the box off the desk. “Peck headed to lunch. If you wanna go, Carlson’s Bakery has pretty good sandwiches. Tell Veronica I sent you over.”

I don’t wait for a response. I just hit the door to the bay and escape while I still can.

THE TOWEL RUBS ALONG the steamed up glass, squeaking as it wipes away the moisture. After a few swipes, I can make out my foggy reflection.

Hair up turban-style, my body wrapped in a soft pink robe, the streaks of dirt and dust from Crank are only a distant reminder. My cheeks are still rosy, though, and I wonder if it’s from the heat of the shower or the fantasy of being pinned against the wall by Walker I just indulged while rinsing off the grime from the day.

My grin stretches from ear to ear, and with just me in the room to witness, I don’t try to hide it. There’s no point in pretending I’m not utterly perplexed by Walker Gibson.

Closing my eyes, the heat of the bathroom makes me remember the fervor zipping between us when he walked me back to the wall. There was an intensity etched on his face, lines dipping deep into his skin as he wrestled with whatever was causing the browns of his eyes to spiral like a storm. Each step towards me both a warning and a promise, a message that I couldn’t quite grasp.

I wanted him to touch me, kiss me, break this barrier he’s so obviously constructed between us. Most guys have no problem trying to see what they can get away with. Walker? I’m not sure I could beg him to.

As I take in my reflection again, the apples of my cheeks are even redder. The fabric tucked around my chest is unforgiving and I have to loosen it to breathe.

“Sienna?” Delaney’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. “I’m going to grab some takeout. You want anything?”

Tags: Adriana Locke The Gibson Boys Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net