Page 65 of Now or Never

Which was why she was wondering whether it was the sex, or the man himself, that was causing her to still be flustered after fourteen entire days.

She glanced across the lawn toward Natalie’s house, now with walls covered in paper stuff and giant cut-outs of plastic where windows would eventually be, and found Adam, standing by his truck, staring back.

She was about to look away, but he raised a hand and waved. So she returned it, then awkwardly looked away.

They hadn’t really spoken since that night. The drive back to Mapleton the next day had been more than a little awkward, with sparse conversation about the wedding and long stretches of silence. Adam had texted her plenty of times since, asking her opinions about music and ties and hairdressers, but they hadn’t had a conversation in real life.

She was too scared to.

Which made her wonder how the hell she was going to survive another weekend away with him. He’d rented a limo bus to take everyone up to his family cottage together and bring them back the next day. So she would be stuck on the bus with him the whole time.

At least they wouldn’t be alone.

She’d just have to keep reminding herself how awkward this was so she wouldn’t climb into his lap when the ridiculous notion inevitably roared back.

His lap was just so inviting.

And his mouth.

And his hands.

“All set?”

Chelsea nearly dropped Vincent’s seven-thousand-dollar lens. He took it from her, placed it into the case, and zipped.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“No harm, no foul. You okay?”

“Yes. Yeah. Yup. Absolutely,” she said, nodding.

Her head jerked wildly up and down before she realized she was still nodding and stopped. Her eyes swept back across the lawn, and Adam was still there, looking at her.

Fuck.

Vincent followed her line of sight. “Something wrong with the Hartley kid?”

Oh, where to start?

Chelsea shook her head, trying to play it cool. There was no way she was going to spill all her personal business to Vincent. Although something told her he would be the perfect person to tell things to.

“Not much to that house, eh?” he said.

Chelsea’s shoulders sagged at the change in the subject. “No. They want it to be mostly windows. It reminds me of that glass house they shotTwilightin.”

Vincent made an impressed face and nodded, then looked back at her. “I imagine that’s what Andie’s and Oliver’s boss’s house would look like, only in the city. What’s his name again?”

“Marcus,” Chelsea said without thinking. Then realization came, and her universe stopped. She turned to him fast. “You read my script!”

“Of course I did.”

“I can’t believe you actually read it, though.”

“I said I would,” he said, a crease coming between his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. But people just say things all the time.”

He cocked a brow. “I never ‘just say things.’”

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