We’re standing too close. Too warm.
Close enough that I can smell his cologne, mixed with something distinctly him.
Close enough to see the faint stubble along his jaw that I definitely do not want to drag my fingers over.
I swallow. “Thanks.”
Neither of us moves.
His hand lingers—a breath away from my skin.
For a psychotic moment, I think he might lean in.
A laptop crashes to the floor somewhere behind us.
We both jump.
Alfie steps back—too quickly, like he’s just remembered himself.
His expression is smooth, unreadable.
“You should go.”
And he doesn’t even look flustered.
I practically flee.
Skin still tingling where he touched me.
This is bad.
This is very, very bad.
I am so screwed.
Like, failed-your-midterms, drunk-texted-your-ex, agreed-to-sixty-hours-with-the-hot-geology-nerd-who-kisses-like-he’s-trying-to-prove-a-scientific-theory level of screwed.
4
ALFIE
Ishove my hands into my jacket pockets as I slam my car door.
Right on cue, I hear the scuff of paws against pavement.
The neighbor’s golden retriever tilts his head, big brown eyes locked on me like I am his entire world.
I don’t slow down.
“Not today, Baxter,” I mutter.
A thud against my leg.
I sigh. “Really?”
Baxter tilts his head up at me, his tail swishing against the pavement like he already knows he’s won.
“I don’t even like you,” I mutter.
