He leans into me, his smile gone as his tongue brushes his bottom lips. “Obsessive. That’s a good word.”
Holy. Crap. What is going on with him right now? My brain might not know; I’ve not had a whole lot of experience with guys, but my body is reacting all on its own—nature completely taking its course.
“Are you saying you’re obsessive?” I ask, and wish my voice wasn’t so damn shaky.
“I guess we’ll see.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Over the rim of his cup, he asks, “You want to be a lawyer, huh? Here in California?”
Alrighty then, way to change the subject. I shrug. “I don’t know where. My mom is here so I don’t want to be too far from her. We’re close.”
I take a sip of the strong coffee and decide it needs sugar. I reach for the bowl with the sugar packets at the exact same time he does, and just like in the movies, our hands brush. I always thought that move was so darn corny, so contrived, and their reaction from a simple hand touch was totally over the top. You know what I think now, as my heart beats a little faster and I come alive deep between my legs.
I was wrong.
God, how can an innocent, barely-there touch awaken me, set off fireworks between us?
“Sorry about that,” he says, and I note the way the blue in his eyes seems to darken. “Go ahead.”
I put my hands on my lap, as my traitorous body continues to tingle. “No, you go.”
He gestures with a nod. “It’s okay, you go.”
I give a fast shake of my head. “No, you.”
As if we both want to put a stop to this stupid back and forth banter, not to mention the sudden burst of electricity between us—although I could be the only one feeling it—we both reach for it again, touch hands, and boom, my ovaries clench so hard, I’m worried I might have just climaxed. We both snatch our hands back.
“We are both so stubborn.” He laughs and sits back. “I think I’m going to drink this with just one sugar.”
“Yeah, I don’t need any sugar either.” I snort. “Now that I’m not running every day, who needs the extra calories, right?”
“You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice low, and filled with such sincerity that a weird little thrill goes through me, but I push it down. He’s just being nice. I’ve seen the cheerleaders he goes out with—or rather fucks—as he so bluntly put it, and I appreciate his honesty. Why lead a girl on only to dump her and leave her broken?
“I’m not perfect,” I tell him. Wait, am I fishing for a compliment? I stifle a groan, because I think I might be.
“You’re an athlete. You need to eat, whether you’re currently running or not.” I look down and he slides his hand across the table, this time his rough fingers purposely caress mine, a scrape of a touch that makes me forget I don’t like this guy. My gaze flies to his. “You’ll run again, Maize.”
He looks so sad, the need to soothe his worries compels me to say, “I love running, and I’m grateful that I’m good at it, but it’s just a means to an end.”
Someone clears their throat and we both turn to see Nancy standing there. Jeez, how long has she been standing there, and how did we not even know?
She has a knowing grin on her face as we push back to give her the room to set our food down. I almost open my mouth to tell her it’s not what she thinks, then change my mind. What’s the point? I can’t afford to eat at a quaint place like this, and won’t ever see her again.
She leans forward. “If you two need anything else, just shout.”
We both mumble our thanks, and I stare at the beautiful display of eggs benedicts and home fries. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be able to replicate this, Christian. You might have bid on the wrong girl.”
“No, I didn’t.” My gaze goes to his, but he’s busy stabbing one of his home fries. With the way he’s focused on his food, I’m not even sure he realizes what he said.
I reach for my fork, and begin to eat, digging into my eggs benny first. A moan catches in my throat, and I briefly close my eyes. When my eyes open again, I find him staring at me. The intensity in his eyes as he gazes at my mouth dries my mouth and turns me inside out. I set my fork down.
“Christian?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
His brow furrows, and he glances down like he’s fighting some internal war. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m just glad you’re enjoying your meal.”
“It’s delicious. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“See, not so bad, huh?” He winks, and I get what he’s asking. Not so bad that I’m his ‘sugar baby.’
“It’s still early in the game,” I say and we both chuckle, things a little lighter between us.
We talk about classes as we finish our meal, and when we’re done, he helps me to my feet, my boot feeling extra heavy this morning. He walks slow, like he knows I might be in agony, then opens the Jeep door for me. His brow is furrowed as he circles the vehicle and climbs in.
“Do you have to wear it twenty-four-seven?”
“Not really. I’m just the kind of girl who thinks if you’re going to do it, then overdo it, moderation is for pussies.”
He sits there staring at me for what feels like a full minute, then he bursts out laughing. I laugh with him and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“What?”
“I think there is a whole side of Maize Malone that no one sees,” he says and grins at me as he backs out of the parking lot.
I take in the hard, handsome angles
