“Barely,” I mutter, giving her another once over. She rolls her eyes at me, moving past me into the kitchen and I’m struck with a sense of Deja vu. It was only a handful of weeks ago when she trapped me in here, me on this side of the island and her on the other side, interrogating me for the whiteboard, which she clearly found.
I lean my forearms against the marble island, watching as she moves into the cupboards. Maybe this wasn’t the best angle to choose because now I can see her small, but round ass in those panties. She reaches up, her shirt that’s already short as it is, lifting to reveal a small tattoo on her right hip.
Fuck me sideways, it’s hot.
I can’t really see it from here, but there are a few words dotted next to a small black butterfly.
It’s hard not to stare at it.
Ather.
When she’s around, she’s all I fucking see. She’s justthere.Constantly in my face, practically shoving her beauty down my throat without even trying. She’s stunning and she knows it. Everyone knows it. Well, they better do or else I’m starting to think I can no longer justify whatever it is I’m feeling as a common thing.
When my eyes snap back up to her arms, she’s still grasping at whatever she’s trying to get and even though she’s not short, she still can’t reach. I push myself back from the island, walking over to her, ready to put her out of her misery. And because I can’t stop myself, I put my hand on her hip, steadying her as I reach over her.
Well…shit.
I should have thought that through. I don’t know which one of us gasps when we notice the skin to skin contact. I don't think we’ve ever been this close before. Never on purpose. She lets out a sigh, maybe grateful that it’s only me and I grip onto her tighter, my hands flexing automatically as her back is basically pressed to my front.
I let myself touch her for a moment. I just keep my hand there for a few extra seconds, feeling the smoothness of her bare skin, the warmth radiating from it and the soft, almost buttery feeling I get from it.
“Evan?” she rasps.
“Hm?” Maybe it’s not a good idea to form actual sentences right now.
“What are you doing?” she asks as if it isn’t obvious. There’s a strain to her voice that I can’t place. Annoyance? Frustration?
“Getting the glass for you, obviously,” I say back, her hair tickling my chin as I reach further over her. “I’m not that much of a monster that I'm going to painfully watch you struggle to get it.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Clearly, you can’t,” I huff, picking up the glass with one hand while slightly shoving her to the side with the other, ending our contact. I put the glass on the counter, sliding it to her side. “Why do you even have glasses that high? None of you are over five-seven.”
She leans against the opposite counter next to the sink, crossing her ankles and placing the glass under the dispenser in the fridge. “I usually climb up onto the counter, but then you’d end up seeing my bare ass and I don’t think either of us want that to happen.”
She finishes filling her cup, waiting for her to bring it to her lips before I say, “I can see your ass perfectly fine like this.” I wait for the words to register in her brain, seeing if I can push her into the reaction I want. But she’s cool, calm, and collected as she swallows smoothly, as if she didn’t hear me.
“Thanks for that analysis, Branson,” she quips, placing the glass onto the counter, crossing her arms against her chest. “Why are you here?”
Is she being serious? She stares at me, those brown eyes darkening, pinning me with a look that could send someone running.
“Youcalledme, remember?” I say playfully. Realisation slowly dawns on her face as her defiant smile fades as her face knots in confusion.
“Did I?” she asks, and I nod, grinning at the way she might be admitting that she was wrong for once. “Shit. I must have fallen asleep. Again. I don’t think I’ve been sleeping properly.”
Now I’m curious. “What’s keeping you up?”
She sighs dramatically. “Just the fact that I don’t know who tried to hurt my dad and someone might be after me and my family.”
“No one is coming after you,” I say with a groan. This girl needs to stop stressing out before it rubs off on me. I’m already on edge. One of us needs to be the sane one here and we both know it’s not going to be me.
“How do you know that? Did they personally let you know that? Because it feels like someone is watching me at all times, Branson.”
“I just know,” I say quickly, trying my best to convince her. “Just relax, okay?”
“Ah, yes,” she mimics dryly. “My favourite thing to do.”
“How was your night with- What’s his face?” I ask, trying to turn the conversation into a safer topic.
