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Wild reindeer fidgeted in my stomach.
I closed my hands on the plastic seats, berating myself for giving into his flirtatious nature, and scooted two seats over, leaving one square foot of plastic as neutral ground.
“Closer.”
When I hesitated, Ford’s fingers curled gently around my shoulder and tugged me into the spare seat between us.
Okay, so I moved into the spare seat between us. But his hand was most definitely my scapegoat.
His gaze swept over me, from my elf shoes to my antlers, and settled on my face. “You’re not a reindeer today.”
I pressed a hand to my cheek, frowning. “I forgot.” Then I elbowed him. “I was rushing to get Jeramiah’s medsandmeet you and you were damn well late, Ford.” I poked him for good measure and almost broke a finger. “Ow.”
“I think I’m the one who's meant to say that.”
“You’d deserve it,” I grumbled.
“That upset I touched you, huh?” He squeezed the shoulder he hadn’t released in an intimate gesture I shouldn’t have let pass, but I did.
It was cold.
My argument was shitty. Or spitty, depending if you asked Pickles or not.
“I don’t usually um, you know...” I squeezed my eyes shut and blew out a breath.
“Flirt?”
“Yeah.” I cracked one eye open. “Is it that bad?”
“Fairly crappy, but I’m sure you’ll improve.”
“Thanks.”
“Oof.”Ford wheezed as I poked him a little harder this time. “Damn, girl.”
“So, let’s rephrase. I'm that bad at flirting, huh?” I pressed a fingertip to my chin and pretended to think.
“You’re doing fabulous,” Ford said with a straight face, sneaking a look at me out of the corner of my eye. He grabbed my free hand in his and raised it to his lips.
Warmth spread through my hands to my arms, every nerve ending pinging.
“What was that for?” I squeaked in a hushed voice but there was no way Jansen would hear us over the boat’s motor and the wind rushing in the opposite direction.
“Because you’re beautiful and I get the feeling no one tells you.”
“Oh.”
Ford settled back, hugging me a little closer, a satisfied smirk decorating his face. “So, I have to be back by one to get suited up.”
“Suit’s all organised. I was picking it up at midday.” I slid a peek at him through my lashes. “How long are you staying in New York, Ford?”
“Dunno.” He flexed his fingers in his lap, rubbing the pad of his thumb across a collection of white scars on his knuckles. “I was going to bug out at Christmas, or New Years, if something came up...” His gaze lifted to my face. “Something to keep me here a while longer.”
My heart stopped, and didn’t restart. “Ford?”
He raised his hand, the one covered in scars, and cupped my cheek gently. “Give me a reason to stay, Nisha.”
I blinked at him, wishing something–anything–would eject from my brain, but that seemed to have taken an impromptu hiatus along with my heart. “I can’t–” was what actually fell out of my mouth.
