Page 61 of The Fake Out

“It’s a surprise.”

I glared at him and then made my move, lunging at the books in his hand. But that didn’t go as planned at all. Instead of being quick and stealthy, my momentum carried me forward.

Chris caught me around the waist with his free hand, holding me against him. To his credit, he didn’t budge, take a step back, move an inch. He was solid as a tree. About as big as one too. It was sensation overload to the nth degree. Strong arm, solid body, broad chest, those opposable thumbs. My brain short-circuited and a wave of heat not altogether caused by embarrassment started on my chest and worked its way up my neck to my cheeks.

I should move. It should be noted I did not move. It felt way too nice. Like wrapping up in a blanket fresh from the dryer.

Which was yet another reason I should move.

He was so tall, I had to crane my neck back to see him. He blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy; honey-brown eyes met mine. He wasn’t smiling though; it was some other expression in between, almost confusion.

“I’m sorry. Let me just…” I slid my hands between us and felt his heart thump against my palm. I pushed gently on his chest but there wasn’t any give. His arm didn’t loosen; I was stuck. “Chris?”

He hadn’t moved a muscle, his gaze still intense on me. Although the look there had shifted to curious, alert. Something was going on behind his eyes that made me… nervous.

So, I pinched him. Or tried. Pinched implied there was an extra bit of fat to do something with.

“Are you going to let me go?” I asked, exasperated.

He opened his mouth as though he planned to say something (likely mildly flirty and wholly annoying) but instead, he frowned, brow creased. A lock of hair dipped in front of his eye, and I had the strange desire to brush it away.

“Well, look at this. Exactly who I was searching for,” an overly loud voice said from the end of the aisle. “Go ahead, don’t let me interrupt you.”

Peter.

“Great,” I muttered and tried to straighten again.

But to my surprise, Chris pulled me closer, his hand settling around my waist. A wide smile—the one he normally wore—spread across his face as he turned to Peter. “Hey, I guess you did catch us having a moment.”

“I was actually looking for Mae there. Was hoping to catch her at the library, but I can see she has plans this evening.” Peter rocked back on his heels. While he didn’t look uncomfortable, he did look almost confused. “I didn’t realize the two of you were friends.”

Chris grinned. “Sure, friends.”

If a wink had a sound, it was Chris saying the word friends.

For a moment, Peter looked too flustered to say anything. Then he pulled himself together and got to the point. “Mae, I know you’ve been concerned because you had to let go of your library assistant.”

I straightened but Chris kept ahold of one of my hands, the contact both heady and weirdly comforting.

How was this my life?

“I think what you mean, Peter, is that you decided to cut the library budget so deeply I had no choice but to let my assistant go. But do go on.”

“I’ve solved your problem.” His smile was friendly, and it creeped me out.

“That you created.” I waved my hand at him impatiently. “How exactly did you solve my problem?”

“There’s a young man, a senior at the high school, who’s looking to do some, ah, volunteer work and I thought he’d be a good fit. I hear he’s real good with computers.”

“Volunteer work?” I asked, turning this information over in my mind, looking for the loophole. There was no way Peter was offering me this unless there was a reason. It was just like when we dated. He was a tit-for-tat sort of guy. If he gave me something, even small, he expected to get something in return that benefited him.

I guess he was always destined to be a politician.

“Yep. I’ll have him report to you on Monday after school. Sound good?”

Yes, and that was the problem. This could only mean one thing: there was something he wasn’t telling me. “What’s this kid’s name?”

“Aidan Bustos.”