Page 19 of The Irresistible Distraction

“Taking apart a jukebox was pretty fucking fun. Kind of disappointed it was just dried grease gunking up some of the gears, because I was almost maybe a little bit hoping for an excuse to perform more extensive surgery. And even if the rest of the day was mostly elbow-greasing work, at least I now know never to tip below twenty-five percent again.”

“Are you always so . . .”

“Delightful? Captivating? Irresistible?”

Despite how exhausted I am, a gurgle of laughter escapes. “Glass half full of rainbows?”

For the first time, Sexy Tourist doesn’t immediately reply. His gaze is steady, serious, as he studies my face. “I have been wondering what it is about you that’s inspiring such exertion.”

It’s a less flowery, less pure flattery answer than I expected. My tone is the tiniest bit defensive as I remind him, “You volunteered.”

“Eagerly. Even though I can’t remember the last time I had to work quite this hard for a simple date.”

“Maybe I’m only interesting because I was, temporarily, a challenge?”

Again, the serious expression. “Don’t think so, no. Have had dates with women who think they’re playing hard to get. And this . . . is not that. My working hypothesis is that you bring out the best in me.”

“By making you do chores? Clearly, I’ve been doing the courtship thing incorrectly all these years.”

“Yes. First by referring to it as the courtship, and also the⁠—”

“Don’t say it.”

He leans forward and kisses me instead, a brief meeting of our lips that shouldn’t steal away my breath but does. “Unmentionable act that is never to be referred to as the sex.” I can feel his smile against my lips, and it is more of a turn-on than it should be. “You’re not just one of the most self-sufficient women I’ve met, contained in a way that seems to call to me. Serious in a way that shouldn’t be attractive.”

“If this is how you flirt⁠—”

“It isn’t.” He pulls me toward him slowly, one arm curving around my waist and pulling me inexorably forward, giving me every opportunity to resist before he kisses my neck. “If I were merely flirting, I’d stick with the more superficial truths, that your skin is luscious, that I’ve been diligently, and somewhat futilely, attempting to resist touching you all day.”

My neck arches against his lips and my eyes close helplessly as his other hand comes to my hip.

It sounds almost like someone else’s voice asking, “Do I need to change, for our date?”

“No need. We have a variety of options. The work party that’s still ongoing. We could go on a drive. Or, I also had a picnic basket delivered, if you’d like that option, which is, full disclosure, my favorite.” At my raised eyebrows—because I think I would have noticed a delivery—he laughs, warm blue-green eyes fixed on me. “The morons from before. They didn’t believe I’d actually go to this much effort for a date, so they had to come and verify for themselves.”

The answer soothes me, gives me a plausible reason for the men’s behavior.

“I asked John Wayne to order, pick it up, and then deliver it. For the record, he was supposed to come alone.”

“John Wayne?”

“One was dressed like a cowboy, didn’t you see? He’ll be crushed you didn’t notice. He bought a belt buckle and plaid shirt for our Lake Arrowhead party.”

His hands are at my hips, keeping me close enough that it feels like a continued embrace. It’s dangerous, how comfortable I feel with him, how quickly he’s established an easy familiarity between us, despite how short of a time we’ve known each other, despite what a short amount of time we’ll likely spend together. “Where would we picnic?”

“Found a great place to watch the fireworks and sunset.”

“It’s barely 3:10.”

He leans in, and even though there’s a faint sheen of sweat—unavoidable after a day in the back kitchen—he still smells wonderful, a mixture of his spicy cologne and something masculine and uniquely him that affects me in a way I’m unused to, a pheromone thing my body recognizes and responds to. His lips graze my jaw again as he murmurs, “The sign says you’re closed on Sundays, and considering how many hours I worked today, I’d planned on providing a fairly long distraction.”

He pulls back a little, waiting. The decision is still mine.

“Okay.”

6

JUST LIFE, INTERRUPTING MY VACATION