Page 48 of #Awestruck

He carried all of the dirty dishes from the table to the sink. “Since you cooked, it’s only fair that I clean up.”

“Your ...” I let my voice trail off. I had been about to say that his mother had raised him right, but would that be insensitive? Would it hurt his feelings?

And when had I started caring about not hurting him?

After scraping off the leftover bits of food, Evan began to load the dishwasher.

“You really don’t have to do that.” I felt dumb just sitting there, watching him. Although somehow his doing household chores made him even more attractive.

“It’s not hard to stick them in the dishwasher.”

“Thanks.” I drummed my fingers against the tabletop, not sure what I should do while he washed everything. “And thank you for what you did today. My family had a once-in-a-lifetime experience that they absolutely loved.”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “I didn’t intend to make it a onetime deal. They’re going to be my family, too, right?”

“For pretend,” I quickly corrected him. Just in case he’d forgotten after getting hit in the head one too many times today.

That sexy, knowing smirk of his was back. “Yes, for pretend. But I plan on renting that luxury box for their personal use for every home game. You guys don’t have to use it if you don’t want to, but it will be there, waiting.”

There was no way my family would ever, ever turn down that offer. And they’d kill me if I did. So I just said, “They’ll love that. Thanks.”

“Where do you keep your dishwasher soap?”

Instead of telling him, I got up to grab some from underneath my kitchen sink. When I stood up, he had moved closer to me, and we were almost, but not quite, pressed together. Which meant that every square inch of my skin broke out in goose bumps as I fought off the urge to lean forward just a fraction so we would be touching.

“Here,” I said in a breathy voice and handed him the tiny powder tablet.

“Thanks.” His voice was low and gruff, like he was affected by my proximity, too.

He really was a beautiful man with a face so symmetrical that it added to my distrust. So unfair that he was so perfect. But that perfection was currently marred by the large bruise near his hairline. That must have been where the water bottle had hit him. Without thinking I reached up to touch it, and he made a combination hissing/growling sound when my fingers brushed against his skin.

“That must hurt.”

“Apparently that guy was pretty drunk. I’m glad it was a water bottle and not a beer bottle. And that he didn’t break my nose or something.”

Me too. That would have been a little like somebody carving a mustache and eyeglasses on the statue ofDavid.

His lips were right there. My own burned in anticipation. I could have kissed him. I wanted desperately to kiss him, and that worried me more than anything else that was happening.

I blinked twice, cleared my throat, and backed up. All the way into the living room. I sat in the corner of the couch, trying to catch my shaky breath. He joined me a few seconds later, which wasn’t nearly enough time for me to try and compose myself.

And he sat closer to me than he should have. I had nowhere to run. I grabbed a throw pillow and placed it against my chest, as if it would ward him off.

“What’s your schedule like this week?” he asked.

“Why?” I sounded panicked. I needed to calm down. “What are your plans?”

“Work on Monday, the children’s hospital on Tuesday, Wednesday off, and then the game on Thursday and a light workload on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”

“No Thanksgiving plans?”

He looked down at his hands, flexing and unflexing them. “I don’t really believe in Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, it exists. I’ve celebrated it.”

That made him laugh. “I meant I don’t usually do anything on Thanksgiving. Because of the game.”

No, it was because he didn’t have anyone to celebrate with. Which made me sad.

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