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His tongue peeks out and his shoulders tense.
“Nothing, was just walking around and you happened to be in this aisle. I really need some…” I glance around and add, “…fertilizer.”
He glances over at me and huffs out a breath.
“Okay, but you’re hovering over me.”
I shrug and take a sip of my drink. His eyes fall to my mouth and he glances away quickly, moving to put more bags on the shelf.
“You’re almost as tall as me.”
He doesn’t answer, just bends over and my eyes are drawn to his ass.
“What?” he asks, catching me looking.
Crap. My damn wandering eyes.
“Nothing.”
He grumbles under his breath and then continues working. I just stand there, not quite sure what to do. He keeps peeking over at me, and I keep just lingering. And not in a fun way. More of a creepy way.
“Where’s your cat?” he asks and then scoffs.
“Uh, with my dad. I drove the tractor here today.”
He huffs a laugh and then his lips drop, almost as if he remembered that he needs to frown, that to laugh around me is unacceptable.
“I hate that goddamn tractor. Why don’t you just drive your truck like a normal person?”
I shrug. “Just like it, is all. It’s fun. One day, I’ll show you. Take you for a ride.”
He rolls his eyes and then continues working. My eyes fall on his ass once more and the piece of bare skin that’s showingwhenever he leans over. I see a tattoo peeping out from under the waistband of his jeans and feel something stir inside of me.
“Are you coming to church on Sunday?”
He looks over at me, and his eye twitches. “Are you going to be up there, singing?”
I bob my head. “Yep.”
He turns away again. “Probably not then.”
I reach out and shove his chest gently and the touch ignites something in me. I can feel the wiry muscles under that black shirt, the way they bunch and flex as soon as I touch him.
His mouth drops open at the contact, and I swear I can see the slightest tremble move through him.
“The fuck?” he whispers and then shoves me back. I barely move because I’m much bigger than him, but the touch is so unexpected that I step back quickly. He shoves me again, and I grab on to his wrist with my free hand. I feel the warmth of his skin seep into mine and when our eyes meet, I see his darken. He really does have very pretty eyes—dark mocha with flecks of green in them.
“What are you doing?” he asks softly, his voice low. “Let go of me.”
“You’re shoving me,” I say, my fingers flexing around his wrist.
“You started it.”
I smile at that and a small chuckle escapes my lips.
“You sound like you’re ten. How old are you anyways?”
He rolls his eyes and glances away from me, before peeking back at me. “Twenty.”
