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She stops beside me. “Excuse me?”
I give her a thirty-two-teeth smile, mostly to rattle Tucker. “How can I be of assistance?”
“Would you mind sitting somewhere else? I have to talk to your friend.”
“Sure, dear,” I say, eagerly getting up.
I pretend to consider the empty spaces in the front and then the one free spot left in the back. Ahem. As if there was a question. I seize the opportunity and, with a few quick strides, I’m standing next to Summer, politely coughing.
She stares daggers at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say with excruciating politeness. “I had to move seats. Would you mind if I sat here?”
“Sure,” Summer hisses without moving.
The bus jerks forward and I sway, my hips thrusting dangerously close to her face. Summer’s horrified gaze lands on my general crotch area, and then her eyes rise to meet mine in a swirl of blue fire while her cheeks color.
I shrug apologetically. “Should I climb over, or are you going to scoot?”
Summer snatches her bag. “I’ll scoot,” she says, sliding over to the window seat.
That’s when I notice her shoes. She’s dressed remarkably low-key in a white T-shirt and jeans, but the shoes are espadrille-like sandals with a high wedge and a lace-up tie in a floral print that she’s wrapped around her ankles and secured in place with two pretty bows. Oh, gosh. Those bows are killing me. They’re such a tease. I want to see her with nothing but the damn shoes on.
She looks up and catches me staring at her wedges. We both stare at them for a second, and I hope she’s remembering when her feet were captive in my hands to do with them as I pleased…
Summer sighs and stares out the window… the same cute blush still adorning her cheeks. I’d pay a million in cash to know what she’s thinking right now.
9
SUMMER
An entire week of this is going to kill me. Archie is juststaringat my feet, for heaven’s sake, and I’m breaking out in a heat rash.
And what’s with the lumberjack look? Has he decided to play out every single bad-boy fantasy I’ve ever had? Yesterday, in the lobby, with his leather jacket and all-black get-up, he was a tough biker. This morning at yoga, he was Mr. Sporty McSweatPanty. And now this. What next?
A snapshot of his ripped abs pops into my head, and I’m ashamed to say the next guise I want to see him isau naturel. Last night, we were in the dark and I didn’t get to admire his body in all its glory. At least, not with my eyes; my hands did a wonderful job—and, oh gosh, I must stop obsessing about it.
“What are you thinking about?” Archie whispers close to my ear, making me jump in my seat.
I turn to him, seething. “It’s none of your business.”
A half-smile tugs at his lips. “Oh, I think it is all of my business. You’re blushing.”
“I said none ofthisduring the day,” I hiss. “And that includes flirting.”
“All right,” Archie says. “I’ll just sit here and be a good boy.”
I roll my eyes. Even the way he said “good boy” implies the opposite. I forcibly move my gaze away from his mouth and pointedly stare out the window. He’s rattling me. But I have to confess, having him by my side is a nice, comforting barrier between me and the rest of the world. We’re seated in geeky land at the back of the bus, surrounded by a group of Logan’s colleagues, who all appear very scholarly, except maybe for the tall guy with the Italian accent. But up front, I recognized a bunch of other people besides Susan and Daria. And today I’ll have to face them all. No bathroom stalls to hide in. Getting on the bus first and stowing away among the professors only delayed the inevitable.
Unfortunately, the journey to the winery is short, no more than twenty minutes, and when the bus stops, I can’t suppress a worried sigh from escaping my lips.
Archie doesn’t miss a thing. “Nervous?” he asks.
“Mm-hm.”
“Don’t worry, I’m here. And if it all gets too much we can always grab a cab back to the hotel and finish our conversation from last night.”
I surprise myself by saying, “Can’t we do it right now?”
