Page 48 of Sterling Fight

Only I’m right here. Standing before him. Wanting him, too.

I rush at him, wrapping my arms around his midsection, locking my hands against his back. I bury my head in his chest, feeling the heat of the day and the warmth of the road on him. His pounding heart hammers through the tough exterior of his leather jacket. And Judd stands with his arms outward, not touching me.

I squeeze him once before accepting he won’t hug me back, but just as I attempt to pull away, he closes his arms around me.

His lips come to my head, and he lingers there, breathing me in like I’m breathing in him. Winter mint and sunshine. And something that feels so right, it scares the hell out of me.

19

[Genie]

After Judd drives us back to his place, he makes me lunch, and we sit on his deck discussing everything and nothing while we eat.

I like the color green. He likes purple.

His favorite number is 3.14159265359. Mine is simply 13.

He can multiply large numbers in his head, which has never been my specialty. We discuss Mr. Martin and Math Club. Mrs. Chapman and the middle school library.

I explain how I once had a friend who thought antidisestablishmentarianism was the longest word in the English dictionary, however, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious is actually longer and officially a word according to Merriam-Webster.

Judd tells me how he loves to garden, growing as much as he can for himself.

I tell him more random calendar dates.

When our conversation settles into silence, Judd excuses himself, suggesting he should check in on a few things for work. After he heads to his home office, I step into the library. I don’t know how it goes for him, but I cannot concentrate and eventually wander back into the great room where I find him behind the island counter working on dinner.

“Can I help?” I sidle up next to Judd, who has taken chicken breasts out of his refrigerator along with an array of fresh vegetables.

“Sure. I was going to grill all this, if you want to chop up some of these veggies.”

“Hand me a knife, chef master.” I’m not great in the kitchen but I can chop a carrot.

Only Judd doesn’t seem to like how I’m cutting the long, thick vegetable, so he steps up behind me. “Like this.” He cups the back of my hand and positions my other one a safe distance away, then moves our collective hands in a steady rhythm. Up and down. Up and down. In a measured beat. In an even spacing, until I’m no longer certain who is doing the slicing.

I’m too focused on his hand over mine. The heat of his touch. The tenderness of his instruction. The patience and pace.

“Good girl,” Judd whispers near my ear, his voice low, sending a shiver down my spine. Why is that praise phrase so freaking hot?

I clear my throat, realizing that I was leaning into him. “You’re a good teacher.”

“I still have a lot to learn.” His tone remains quiet.

I don’t turn toward him, keeping my focus on the now slivered carrot. “Like what?”

“Like how to better express myself.”

I drop the knife and spin to face Judd. Our bodies close. When he doesn’t step back, I’m pinned between the warmth of his chest and the counter at my back.

“I think you’re doing just fine expressing yourself.”

I’m standing here wanting you. You don’t get more direct than that, but Judd also gave me an out. Telling me if I didn’t want the same thing as him, feel the same way as he does, nothing has to happen between us.

Suddenly, my hands tingle, a need to touch his chest and soothe his heart.

Judd offers me a half smile. His eyes meeting mine only briefly before he notes our proximity. If he leaned forward just the slightest, my breasts would brush against him. My nipples are already erect and tingling. Something unfamiliar but not unpleasant rushes up my middle. If I tipped up on my toes, I could kiss him and⁠—

“I should probably get the chicken on the grill.” Judd reaches around me, his arm brushing mine. We aren’t finished cutting vegetables, but he rushes for the back door, and I need a minute myself.