Closing the distance between us, I stopped when we were nearly toe-to-toe. It didn’t matter that I had to crane my neck to see his face or that the top of my head barely reached his shoulders. I looked up at him while simultaneously looking down my nose at him like I’d done with Catch. “If you’re going to throw in your two cents about my outfits, be prepared for that to go both ways.”
“What’s that mean?” he rumbled.
“That people in flannel houses shouldn’t throw fashion stones.”
His lip quirked up. Just a hint. “You don’t like my clothes?”
I did.
I very much so did.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” I said instead.
I was about to walk away from that mic drop moment, but I didn’t get the chance.
Stepping closer, he closed that minimal space until my breasts grazed his hard torso. He met my stare down with one of his own.
That was it.
No words.
No insults.
Nothing.
Nothing except my hardening nipples. I knew he couldn’t feel them through my bra, but that didn’t matter.Iknew. I let him get to me in a way far worse than getting annoyed or angry. The tight peaks might as well have been little white flags of surrender.
I lost the war, but I would give away my prized possessions before I ever admitted the defeat out loud.
I went on the offensive instead.
Lifting my index finger, I jabbed it toward him. “This is why I didn’t share my snacks with you.”
I lifted my chin and turned, prepared to glide into the break room with that death blow, but he caught my belt loop before I could take more than a step. He didn’t have to shift me. I whipped around myself. If his finger happened to get hurt with the sudden movement, it was his own fault.
But there was no scowl or flinch.
Damn.
“I’m going to cut the loops off every pair of jeans I own,” I snapped.
Rather than engage, his expression softened as he kept his hold in place. He used his free hand to gesture down my body while following the path with his eyes. “Know I said not to dress geriatric, but now it looks like it’d be illegal for me to serve you alcohol.”
“You know I’m over twenty-one.”
“Do I, though?”
I looked around to confirm we were alone but lowered my voice to be extra cautious. “Do you see a lot of twenty-year-old detectives running around?”
“No, but if anyone could pull off that feat, it’d be you.”
Dammit.
I hated how much I liked that.
“I did achieve it younger than anyone else in my family,” I shared before immediately wanting to glue my big mouth shut.
My competitive ego is going to get me one day.
