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“Asshole,” I mutter, easing off the gas pedal to avoid rear-ending him.
I make a sharp right into the parking lot of the grocery store and slam my truck into an open spot. After grabbing my shopping bags, I sprint into the overly conditioned air of the grocery, intent on making this the fastest food run ever. I yank a cart out, then head straight to the produce department, reading over my list as I walk.
“Hey, watch it!”
Hot panic surges through me as I stop short, inches away from slamming into Juliet.
4
JULIET
Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got to be kidding me.
My heart rate had finally returned to a reasonable number of beats per minute, and now here he is again.
King freaking Montgomery.
“Watch where you’re going.” I scowl at him over the bananas. His face blanches to a shade slightly darker than the skin of a fresh garlic clove, like he’s seeing a damn ghost or something.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, his deep voice barely audible over the soft, easy-listening hit playing through the loudspeaker. A nice throwback song by Whitney Houston, which I was mercifully not dancing to. That would have been embarrassing.
Not that King would have noticed. Hell, he barely realized I was standing right in front of him. If I would’ve stayed quiet, he’d have mowed me over with his shopping cart.
We glare at one another, locked in a staring détente, neither of us willing to crack first.
“Are you gonna move? I kinda need to get to the avocados.” King tips his head to the right, and my chest tightens. Heat prickles beneath my skin, and I’m sure I’m blushing.
I jut out my chin. “You may want to rethink that. They’re not in season yet. Been hard as a rock all month. We’ve had a helluva time making guac at the Tipsy Taco.”
“Thanks for the hot produce tip. But I think I can pick out an avocado.”
“Yeah?” I pop one hand on my hip and step aside, gesturing to the pile of small green rocks. “Be my guest, Top Chef.”
King sweeps past me, our shoulders brushing, and I catch the faint scent of hay mixed with coffee and his alpine cologne. My thighs clench, muscles pulsing, a dull throbbing between my legs.
You should get out of here, Juliet. Nothing good’s going to come from baiting him.
He leans over the avocados, his back broad, the fabric of his shirt stretching with the effort. His muscles have always been strong from long days working at the ranch, and it seems nothing’s changed in that department. If anything, he’s more muscular than before.
A low current of desire hums through my veins, and I’m glad his back is to me, because I’m definitely flushed. He picks up one green rock, then another, squeezing them in his large hands.
Hands that have squeezed more than avocados.
I take a deep breath and exhale, trying to remember where I am and why I’m not going there again.
Ever.
Remember that I want nothing to do with this man.
Even if he did make me—every last inch of me—feel amazing once upon a time.
King sets the first two avocados down and plucks another two from higher up on the pile. Stretching, giving me a nice view of his ass. High and round, perfectly outlined in his worn jeans, the denim sure to be soft from wear.
He turns slightly, a furrow creasing his brow. He’s determined to find a ripe avocado, just to prove me wrong. The man’s stubborn as an ox—always has been.
“I told ya. Not in season.”
He cocks his head at me, bites at his bottom lip that I know would taste faintly of mint ChapStick.
