Page 5 of Maybe You

It’s like a scene out of a movie. The only thing that’s missing is slow motion.

Also, six-pack was clearly an understatement.

He holds the ball out without a word, and I reach out my hand to take it. His eyes zero in on my fingers, and then his fingers wrap around my hand, and he lifts it up, examining the bright blue tape I used for damage control earlier.

“What happened here?” he asks once he looks up.

I clear my throat and pull my hand out of his grasp.

“It’s just a sprain.”

“Just a sprain?” he repeats. “Is that painter’s tape?”

“It’s a splint. I had to improvise a bit.”

“Saying this is a splint is being very generous.”

I frown at my fingers and then at him. “Everybody’s a critic.”

He lets out a startled laugh, and I take a step back. I still have no idea what to make of him.

“So what am I dealing with here?” I ask. “Did you get locked in when they were closing the place and figured you’d get your money’s worth while you’re here? Are you a burglar who didn’t get the job description?”

He sends me a sly smile. “What would I steal? Water?”

I shrug. “You tell me.” I throw him and his sculpted abs another look and feel my whole face heat. “Would you just put some clothes on already?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I don’t think anybody’s ever asked me to put more clothes on.”

“What do you know, there’s a first time for everything.”

He snorts out a laugh, salutes me, goes and grabs his clothes from where he’s stowed them on one of the benches by the wall, and saunters away, leaving me staring after him.

“What the hell is happening?” I mutter to myself under my breath.

I get no answer.

He comes back.

He gets dressed, but he comes back.

I take my sweet-ass time with the pressure cleaner.

He’s still here when I finish.

Eventually, I pack the cleaning supplies away and go to where he’s now lounging against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other.

I sigh. I was really hoping he’d take off, so I wouldn’t have to deal with him. No such luck.

“You’re still here,” I say, stating the obvious.

He hums in reply, eyes still on me. He doesn’t say anything, just looks, his gaze sweeping up and down, the same cocky smile on his lips.

I suppose normal people would be happy to have his attention.

The best I can do is apprehension.

He’s apparently done looking for now, because he lifts his chin toward me.

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