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“Yeah, because it’s the polite thing to say. If someone asks you if you’re okay and you don’t know that person well, then you say you’re fine. Because they don’t really want to know if you’re in pain, they’re just being polite.”
“I’m very rarely polite.”
Right. Good to know.
Also, she wasn’t sure how to reply to that.
And she wasn’t sure she liked being called a Spitfire, either.
“I take it you’re Mr. Steele.”
“You’d be right. Damon Steele.” He held out his hand, which surprised her.
But she reached out to take it, only to have him grab hold and not let go.
“Uh, can I have my hand back?”
“No.”
She gaped up at him, noticing his eyes were a striking blue color. He had short dark hair, a short beard, and shoulders that went on forever.
Seriously, he had to be twice as wide as she was.
“You look like you could bench press a small car.”
Something changed in his face. “Not quite. But I can easily pick you up and put you where I want you.”
“Now you sound like Grady.”
“Do I?” he asked curiously.
“Yes, he told me I should stay where he put me. And then he locked me in his office.”
“Obviously, he thinks you’re a runner. Are you a runner?”
“I can’t run. I try to run and I look like Donald Duck. Big butt waddling along. Boobs flying all over the place because no sports bar can tame these girls. It’s not a pretty sight. Then I usually trip over something or twist my foot, and my body will warn me that it wasn’t made for running. And then I’ll stop running for another few years. Until I get the harebrained idea that I need to run in order to lose a few pounds. And the cycle starts again. What was my point again?”
He was standing, leaning against the door with her hand still in his. She gave it a tug, realizing just how warm her skin was where she was touching him.
He didn’t let her hand go.
She wanted to frown at him. Instead, she smiled brightly. If she asked nicely enough, then he’d have to do what she asked. It was just good manners.
And she was going to ignore the fact that it seemed like he didn’t have any.
“Could I please have my hand back?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“But I said please.”
He leaned in closer. “No. When I asked if you were a runner. I wasn’t talking about actual running. I meant, are you going to try and leave?”
“I can’t leave with you standing in front of the door,” she pointed out.
