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His poetic pitch lures me in, and there’s nothing pretend about the spiral whipping inside me.
“And maybe”—he skims his fingers behind my ear, down my cheek, across my jaw, leaving a trail of flames—“you’ll even let me kiss you again.” His lips hover less than an inch from mine.
The washer buzzes next to us, yanking me from my Gabe-induced stupor. I duck under his arm before I let him kiss me stupid.
“Jess?” He whirls toward me, his face steeped in confusion. Underneath the heat in his eyes, something flares and dies. Something that seems an awful lot like hurt.
chapter 20
Gabe
“Tell the truth. If it works in your favor.”
~ Meredith Morgan
(played by the award-winning Meredith Wade)
Raising Ryder: Episode266
I brace myself against the counter that runs the length of the laundry room and try to figure out what the hell just happened.
Jess’s pupils are huge. Her breathing’s off. A flush runs across her face, down her throat, and disappears into the neckline of my Eminem concert tee. All signs she was right there with me.
Until she wasn’t.
Trying to decode her mixed messages is like surfing a blown-out wave. She shifts my center. Screws my balance. Sends me scrambling. One second she’s falling into me, the next she’s dodging me like a third-world disease. This girl’s kicking my ego’s ass. And I can’t stay away from her.
“You’re staring.” She clenches her arms so hard her chest is locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
Doesn’t matter. The image of her in that wet white tank isn’t fading anytime soon.
The washer buzzes again, and she makes a move toward the machine.
“I got it.” Still arm-wrestling my libido, I turn to take care of our wet clothes, desperate for the time-out. We didn’t even close the deal on that kiss, and I’m having issues with the downshift. What is it about her that instantly cranks me from first gear to overdrive?
I’m slow to toss the load from one machine into the other. “What’s the difference betweenair,speed, andfluff?” I slam the door, baffled by dryer linger. “Don’t I want all three?”
“Top option,” Jess says behind me, her voice raw.
Questioning whatpermanent presshas to do with drying clothes, I push the button. Then turn, determined to keep my focus on her face.
She’s moved next to the wall, her gaze flicking toward the open door, like she’s scoping escape routes. “I don’t get why you want to do this.” She motions between us. “I’m not exactly your type.”
“I have a type?” Did she Google me? Shit. Social media’s probably peggedbreathingwith a heartbeatas my type. I kill the urge to reach for my phone and check.
Sinking to the floor, she scoots against the wall and crosses her legs. “I’m nothing like Kimberly Kane.”
Thank God. Kim is my job. Jess is my vacation.
Dipping her chin, she lets her hair fall in her face, but it doesn’t mute her long sigh. “I hate that people think I’m your sleazy hotel hookup.”
I cross the room, lower myself to the floor, my knees inches from hers. “Your live so far out of Sleazy Town you’ll never even accidently wander into the neighborhood.”
When she meets my eyes, she doesn’t look convinced. She picks at the wide hem she’s rolled into the pants I gave her. “Will you answer two questions for me?”
Ducking questions is a skill I’ve mastered. “Go for it.” I flatten my hands on the cool tile behind me and lean back, listening to the dryer clunk as I wait for her next move.
“You have to be honest.”
