Okay, so he’s pretty freaking adorable when he’s confused. And the idea of him caring whether or not he’s in the doghouse is pretty freaking cute, too.
“You’re not in trouble,” I tell him.
“Okay?” A divot appears between his brows, and a drop of sweat rolls down his temple. “Come here.” He ushers me into the hallway. Once we have some semblance of privacy, he says, “Okay, I’m ready. Tell me how I’m not in trouble.”
““I just, I want to say thank you.”
The divot between his brows deepens. “You don’t need to thank me, Violet.”
The man’s joking, right?
“I do, though,” I argue. “For a lot of things, actually.”Say it, Violet. Say it, so you can get out of here.“For last night. That’s a pretty big one. And for the haunted house.” I let my attention slip from his face to his chest, hoping it’ll be enough to keep my train of thought on the right track for more than two seconds, but it doesn’t work. The man’s toned chest is as distracting as his stupid face. “I know I can be stubborn,” I force out. “I know it would’ve been a lot easier for both of us if I’d listened and followed your instructions in the haunted house.” I hesitate, soaking up the heat emanating from him. “I wouldn’t have made it out of that room without you.” My lips bunch on one side.“And I mean it in a very literal sense. I don’t, uh, I don’t like…water. Or swimming. Or any large body of…liquid.” I shake my head. “I’m getting off track. I just, I feel like you should know that I know I owe you now, and, uh, I’m grateful. Add in last night, and…if you ever need anything, I’m more than happy to help.”
There. I said it. I thanked him. I offered to pay him back so I’m indebted for the rest of my life, and?—
“Help,” he repeats.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Why’d you take the right door?” he asks.
My brows bunch, and I force myself to look up at him again. “What?”
“Why’d you take the right door when I told you to take the left? In the haunted house.” He moves even closer, closing the workout room door behind him until we’re one-on-one in the hallway. “Since you brought it up.”
I did, didn’t I?
Man, it feels like a lifetime ago, but it was only yesterday. The haunted house. The adrenaline. The fear. Should I tell him the truth? It sounds so…calloused. Especially when taking into account last night’s turn of events. But I suppose he’s earned it after jumping in and saving the day. Twice now. “I guess I, uh, I guess I questioned whether or not you had my best interest in mind,” I murmur.
He pulls back, surprised by my answer. “Glad you think so little of me.”
“Surprised you care how I think about you in general,” I reply. “I was wrong. Clearly.” I force a smile. “You’re, uh, you’re not the guy people think you are, Jagger Harden.”
“Wrong again,” he counters. “I’m exactly the guy people think I am.”
“Not to me.” My eyes fall to his mouth. “Why is that?”
I don’t mean to say it, but the question tumbles past my lips despite my best intentions. I didn’t come down here to ask why he helped me, only to thank him for said help. But now that I’ve said it, I can’t help it. I kind of want to know.
“Good question.” He squeezes the back of his neck. “If I figure it out, I’ll let you know, yeah?”
“Sure thing.” I roll my eyes, but part of me is kind of grateful for his deflection. It keeps this safe. It keeps the boundaries clear. I’m not an exception. Only a…minor breach of character.
“First, we should focus on helping you feel better,” he decides, eyeing my bruises like a concerned doctor would. He’s right, though. My injuries are exactly what I should be focusing on.
With a sigh and a one-shouldered shrug, I reply, “Outside of pain meds, I’m not sure what other options there are unless you want to kiss it better.” I snort. “Kidding.”
Another bead of sweat drips along his sharp cheekbone and down the side of his face as he watches me. He smells good. Sweaty, but good. I didn’t know sweat could smell good. Honestly, it shouldn’t. But whatever’s clinging to Jagger’s skin and radiating off him until it reaches my nostrils, well…for a girl who’s not used to waking up in a guy’s bed, let alone being cared for by said guy, it’s confusing as hell. Seriously, I need to get out of here.
“Kiss it better, huh?” he finally questions.
“I said I was kidding,” I remind him, touching the side of my nose again. “Although, if you have any actual suggestions, I’m all ears.”
“Well.” Slowly, he lifts his hand. His fingertips graze the side of my face, and he bends closer. “Let’s see.”
“What are you doing?” The words come out breathy and forced, but I can’t help it. He’s so close. Too close. Because if Iturn my head an inch, maybe two, his mouth would meet mine, and that would be bad. Very bad. I’m not sure why, but…
Like wisps of smoke, my logic dissipates until all I can focus on ishim. Jagger Harden. In all his sweaty, manly, half-naked glory.
