Page 174
Beck reaches for it. I slap his hand away. “Don't.”
His eyebrows rise. “Must say something good for you to be protective of the sticky notes.”
“No.”
“You just smacked my hand.”
“Because you're annoying.”
I fold the note and shove it into my pocket.
Beck's grin widens. “Not keeping it, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He grins and moves toward the hood. “Let's see what else we've got.”
“Don't fucking—”
It’s too late. He’s already peeling one from the truck.
His grin grows. “Oh, this is good.”
“Give it to me.”
He jerks it away.
“Beck.”
He clears his throat. Then reads aloud. “Your thighs are fine too.”
I snatch it from his hand.
He doubles over laughing. Actually fucking doubles over.
“Are you finished?”
“No.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
He straightens and wipes beneath one eye. “Did you tell her that her thighs were fine?”
“No.”
“She seems to think you did.”
“It was taken out of context. I was training her in the gym.”
He starts wheezing again.
Motherfucker.
I rip another note from the hood.
You smiled twice.
