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“I’m not Queenie,” she says, as she bites her lip and looks up at me with big, hazel eyes. . “I’m not going to jump into your arms just because you offer me lots of treats.”
“I know.”But I wish you would.I’d give anything to feel Gemma in my arms right now. Her lips on mine.
She rubs her lips together. When she stops, the upper and lower part slightly. So plump, supple, and kissable I could die.
“I’m here to help you get your life back on track,” she says, almost in a whisper. “Not re-ignite some old flame that’s better off out.”
“Might be too late for that.” For my part, that old flame sparked up the minute I saw her. And now it’s burning so hot inside me, I feel like it might as well be mid-July.
“It’s never too late to get your life back on track.”
“That’s not what I was saying.” I can’t help it. I reach out for her cheek, and slide my fingertips from her temple to her jaw. Her skin feels so good under my fingertips. Warm and smooth. I rest my thumb under her chin and tilt her face toward mine as I step in closer to her.
She skims her hand along my arm, and for a minute I think she’s going to reach up for my neck to pull me closer, like she used to do.
But worry flickers in her eyes, as she searches mine.
I can’t lower my lips to her like I want so badly to do, while she’s got that concern written on her face.
She runs her hand over my hard bicep again, and then pulls it away. “We shouldn’t do this,” she whispers, before stepping back.
I can hardly breathe.
It takes me a minute to suck air back into my lungs and stop my blood from rushing so hot through my veins, I feel like I might burst into flame.
When I clear the cobwebs from my brain I turn and see she’s already halfway to the truck. I have to switch off the floodlights and unplug them from the electricity pedestal on the edge of the court, so it takes me a few minutes to join her.
When I make it into my Chevy, I find that she’s pulled her computer out and balanced it on her lap.
“Hey, good news,” she says, in a falsely-bright, chirpy voice. As though I’m nobody except a client of hers or something, and we didn’t just almost kiss.
I should have let her make the first move.
I told myself I would.
I messed up.
If this unexpected visit with Gemma was a football game, I just fumbled the ball.
I draw in a deep inhale through my nose and run my hand through my hair. It takes every ounce of control I have not to bring up what just happened between us.
I want to talk about it. Get straight about what’s going on. But she clearly doesn’t want to, and I don’t want to push this thing any harder than I am already.
“Yeah? Hit me with it.” I crank the key in the ignition and the truck rumbles to life. I turn the heat up, and put the shifter into reverse.
When I loop my arm over the back of her seat, I’m achingly aware of how close I am to touching her again.
She studies her computer screen. “Okay, so I turned in that questionnaire I filled out for you. We didn’t do the interview portion—because you’re being so stubborn—but I ran your numbers anyway, and the Right Match system located four potential matches for you. All within a 90 mile radius!”
I feel like I’m sitting in a dentist chair, and I’ve just been informed I have four cavities.
No, worse.
Four teeth so rotten, multiple painful extractions are right around the corner.
I just messed up bad with Gemma, and now she’s talking about not one, not two, butfourwomen that she wants to set me up with.
And not just ‘set up’ in a vague way, like someday in the future. I know Gemma’s style. She’s a take-action, check-the-boxes kind of girl. She’s going to get me out on actual dates soon.
