Page 57 of Never Your Valentine

I’m sorry she had to learn the hard way that love isn’t real, but at least she finally learned.

The playlist ends. The last dish is in smithereens. Annabelle is spent. This has been an evening like no other. I don’t even mind the cleanup ahead of me. I’ll get out the big broom and have it done in no time.

“Let me help you with that,” Annabelle says after she strips off the safety gear. Her eyes are bright, her skin glowing, and a satisfied smile tugs at her lips. No way am I going to bring down her high by making her do chores.

“It’s included in the fee.” I continue to sweep.

“I didn’t pay for this.”

She did, though. We had a fair exchange, because watching that rage room session was worth any price. “You had a coupon,” I say. “We’re good.”

“Yeah.” Annabelle wraps her arms around her body and watches me work.

I’ve made it to the corner of the room. “And you’re good.”

“I am. Thank you. Can I…” She’s biting her lip again, but this time, she doesn’t seem anxious. She’s scanning my body, her eyes traveling from my face to my feet and back again.

I stop sweeping. “What?”

“Can I give you a hug? I just…I want one.”

“Hugs are free.” I lean the broom handle against the wall and open my arms.

She throws herself against me and squeezes me tight. Her head is on my chest, right at my heart, and I wonder if she can hear it hammering. She’s warm from her rage session and she melts into me. Her hair should smell of the sweaty helmet, but it doesn’t. It’s still that damned peaches and coconut scent, and under it, a dangerous pheromone that I can’t name but I can feel, because it sends all the blood in my body right to my cock.

I pull away before my arousal becomes too evident. I put my hands on her shoulders and bend a bit to look into her eyes. “Not mad anymore?”

“I’m feeling something,” she says. Her cheeks are pink and she’s blinking too much. “But it’s not anger.”

“Appreciation?” My voice sounds strangled. I should stop touching her. I should let go of her shoulders and pick up my broom. I should finish sweeping up the broken pieces of someone else’s life, turn off the lights, and go home.

I don’t move.

Annabelle stares into my eyes. “Appreciation is one word. The other word is lust.”

My hands fly off her shoulders as if she’s a hot stove. I grab the broom and swipe frantically at the floor. “That’s the adrenaline talking.”

“It’s not, though.”

“Take a walk, it will cool.”

“What if I don’t want it to cool?”

“You just had a big emotional setback and⁠—”

The rest of my sentence is lost in a plate shard hitting the wall. “Dammit, Grant!”

“Hey! Stop.”

She threw it at the far wall, not at me, but still. Safety. She’s got another shard in her hand, ready to go. I rush to her and grab her wrist. “Unless you’re going to gear up for another round, drop the dishes.”

“Don’t do this to me. Not again.” Her eyes blaze hotter. “I want you. You want me. We’ve been flirting like mad for weeks. We already know we’re great at kissing. I bet we’re great in bed, too.”

We’re both breathing heavily, standing chest to chest, staring each other down, wondering who will blink first. I’m still holding her wrist, but her hand is empty. Did I imagine a broken plate in it? What else did I imagine?

I didn’t imagine what’s happening between us, that’s for sure. This is as real as it gets. My little head is doing most of the thinking, but somehow, I rub two brain cells together and start on my script. “Annabelle, I think you’re amazing and I think we’d be amazing together. I want nothing more than to rock your world. But you need to know what I’m offering.”

“I hope you’re offering sex.”