Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
He pats his stomach like he doesn’t care one bit where the cookies come from as long as his mouth is their final destination. “Please say you have more than one package. I can polish off a dozen of those by myself.”
I reach back into the fridge to pull out two more packages. I’m well aware these guys have appetites that could rival hungry lions. Three dozen cookies should do it though.
I set them on the counter then bend to get our baking sheets from the drawer under the oven. It’s a tight squeeze in our little kitchen. The way our apartment is set up, you can only access it from a doorway that juts off from the living room. The tight galley design pushes the oven-stove combo and fridge onto one side, leaving a sink and some minuscule counter space on the other side. Daphne, Sophia, and I have gotten into some nearly-friendship-ending fights because of the size of this kitchen. So help me god, if one person is trying to use the stove and another person wants to wash a dish…well, nice try. It’s not happening.
But tonight, for some reason, I’m more than willing to share the confined space with Grant. In fact, it’s my pleasure.
Though it flies in the face of everything I’m trying to accomplish concerning my crush on him, it’s still interesting to test the limits of my attraction. I’ve never been so wholly aware of another person’s presence; his every breath seems worthy of attention.
Grant steps back so I have room to pull the drawer open. When I go to take out the cookie sheets, he leans down and drops his hand on my back. “Here, let me help.”
His touch makes me freeze. It’s astounding that he can cover so much of my back with his large hand, shocking how a simple touch can make me feel cherished and safe.
Oh god…
I hop back up to my feet, cookie sheets in hand. “It’s nothing. I just have to spread the cookies out on the baking sheet.”
He shakes his head, fighting back a smile. “It’s really a two-person job. What if you don’t get the spacing right?”
I shake my head, playing along. “You’re right. It’d be a travesty.” I set the baking sheets on the counter then gesture behind him. “Can you get those scissors?”
Over the next few minutes, we work together laying out the cookies. It’s a tight fit to squeeze three dozen onto only two baking sheets, but we figure it out. With him in the kitchen, there’s no space left. If he turns sideways, he’ll all but cover the entire width of the room, and he proves my theory once the cookies are ready to go and we’re waiting on the oven to finish preheating.
Our task is done. He could leave, but instead, he turns and blocks the living room from view. I’m stuck between him and the wall. A rock and a hard place.
“So you’re Luke Allen’s little sister…”
His voice is low enough that it won’t carry, especially not while everyone out there is arguing about paint samples.
“Who wants a pink bathroom?!” Dustin exclaims.
I cross my arms and tip my chin up. “And you play for the Pinstripes…”
“Interesting turn of events if you ask me.”
“Is it?”
He shrugs. “You’re effectively off limits to me now.”
The dark look in his eyes coils my stomach into a tight ball of tension.
“If it helps…you were always off limits to me. I don’t date baseball guys, so it would have never worked out between us.”
He edges closer, not enough to draw attention from the others, but enough that I feel slightly off-kilter as I inch backward.
“Is that the truth? Is that the real reason why you didn’t want to give me your number the other night?”
I have to force a swallow.
“No. I didn’t know you played baseball then. I told you the truth at the party…I didn’t give you my number because I didn’t think it was a good idea for…other reasons.”
And I’m glad I trusted my intuition. Maybe I didn’t realize how tightly our worlds overlapped then, but deep down, instinctively, I knew he wasn’t right for me.
“Tell me.”
I laugh like the suggestion is preposterous. “No. It’s just—”
“What?” he goads like he knows the answer more than I do, like he’s privy to my innermost thoughts.
“There are too many reasons to even count,” I say, exasperated.
His eyebrows skyrocket though his amusement doesn’t fade.
“Too many to even count?” He shakes his head. “Sounds like a tricky situation. Silly me, I thought it was just Luke standing in our way…”
“It’s that and more, so just accept defeat and walk away.”
He hums like he considers the idea for a moment and then decides to cast it aside. There’s a wickedness to his expression now, a tantalizing appeal that sets my nerves on edge.