Page 42 of Can’t Say No

I gotta get it together.

Forcing a smile, I nod slowly, as if I’m pulling the memory from the recesses of my mind instead of seeing it fresh.

“Will you go grab the marshmallows? I’m gonna head on down with the boys,” Connor gestures to the horde of students running headlong towards the fire pit, “and attempt to keep anyone from catching on fire this year.”

“This year?” I question.

“Just the sleeve of a sweatshirt, but I’d rather keep it from becoming a repeat event.” He chuckles, but picks up his pace. “Marshmallows are in the cabinet near the fridge!”

I need space. I need quiet. I need a drink.

What I don’t need is to spend the next hour bundled up next to Connor around a fire pit like we did when we were kids, nostalgia playing on loop. But like a moth to a literal flame, I’m plodding down the path, bag of marshmallows in hand, five minutes later.

The collective group lets out a hoot of excitement at my arrival and soon, the very serious task of roasting marshmallows to perfection is underway.

“Still like ‘em burnt to a crisp?” Connor settles next to me on one of the little log benches dotting the perimeter of the fire pit.

I straighten, searching for an inch of distance between us. His broad shoulders are quick to fill up the space I created.

“That’s the only acceptable way,” I quip, eyes locked on the flames, and scoot to the edge of our shared seat.

It’s the knowing that’s making me crazy. I haven’t been around anyone who really knows me in so long. Hell, I’ve hardly been around a version of myself that I know. As much as I hate to admit it, Connor has stepped back into my life without so much as a stumble. A seamless fit, just like when we were kids. Just like when we were fifteen.

He’s making quick work of breaking down my walls, and I just need a damn minute to build them back.

Connor chuckles to himself at my response and points one of the sticks Simon collected my way, marshmallow ready on the end. “Can’t imagine you’ve been roasting too many marshmallows out in L.A. Want me to do it for you?”

I nod, but he stays put.

Connor lets out a loud sigh.

“Lanie,” he says, voice heavy with annoyance.

“Connor.” I match his tone.

He elbows me in the side, the movement threatening to topple me off the log. But years of stage training kicks in and I activate my quads and glutes like my life depends on it. Or in this case, my dignity.

“You’re being petulant.”

“You’re throwing SAT words around as if you forgot that I fudged junior and senior year,” I hiss back under my breath. “I hardly know what that word means.” I cross my arms over my chest and lift my chin, still one-cheeking it on this damn log.

Connor leans in, so close that I can feel his breath on my neck. “You might be a lot of things, Delaney James, but dumb isn’t one of them. Drop the act. And for the love of God, look me in the damn eye if you’re gonna lie to me.”

That does it.

I whip around, ready to defend my bitchy attitude to the death, when my superior squatting skills start to fail me. It’s either eat dirt or accept defeat by grabbing onto Connor. My pride is fine with the first choice, but he doesn’t give me the option.

Strong hands grip my arms and in one swift motion, he hauls me onto his lap.

“That’s better,” he grits out, shifting me a little to sit sideways across his legs. One hand digs into my hip, the other lands squarely on my thigh. With a squeeze to my leg, he says, “Now, are you ready to tell me what’s with the attitude?”

Pretty sure the right word is gobsmacked. I’m motherfucking gobsmacked.

Connor Majors, sweet, nerdy, book-loving Connor Majors, all but growled at me.

And those hands.

On my thigh.