Page 68 of Not That Ridiculous

See, this was the sort of thing it would have been helpful to know about with regards to preparing for sex. Get in some energy drinks. I didn’t know you needed those.

Unless that was a Kevin thing rather than a universal thing?

“Right,” he said briskly. “Ali will be here with the door any minute. I’ll grab my tools and get set up.” He strode back to his Land Cruiser and I let the doorframe hold me up as I watched him go.

I loved the way he moved.

It wasn’t a sexy prowl, or an arrogant strut. It was contained and powerful. You got the feeling he could walk through mountains if he wanted whatever was on the other side.

He opened up the back of the Land Cruiser and leaned in, rummaging around. His broad shoulders and his sides under his tight navy t-shirt flexed.

He came back up the drive with a tool belt slung over his shoulder and a large toolbox in one hand. He set the toolbox on the doorstep and straightened, staring at me as he slid the belt off his shoulder, slung it around his hips, and buckled it. Slowly. Lingeringly.

“What is this, a reverse striptease?” I said, trying to cover the fact that my breathing had sped up.

“I’m just standing here putting my tool belt on, Charlie,” he said. “Why? Is it turning you on?”

“Nope.” Only because watching him bend over and get his toolbox out of the back of his Land Cruiser had already done the job. I reached out and unpoppered one of the little pouches hanging from the belt. “What on earth do you even need all of these for, anyway?”

“Bits and bobs,” he said. He wrapped his long fingers around my wrist, but not to stop me investigating or to pull me away. Just to hold me.

He liked to hold me.

I eased a little closer. “Such as?” I opened the flap and sifted around inside. I pulled out a couple of screws, made a considering noise, and put them back in. Kevin’s head was tilted at a slight angle. His attention was steady on me as I tried out another pouch. This one held a measuring tape. I tugged it free and opened it.

Kevin shifted his hips, then put his hands on mine and zipped the tape measure open half an inch longer.

I stared at the rigid length of metal tape occupying space between us, thought of that kind of rigid length going somewhere else altogether, and my butt cheeks clenched tight.

He made a soft sound and took the tape measure off me. He retracted it and tucked it back in its pouch. “Don’t worry, Charlie,” he said. “I’m great at this, remember?”

I nodded, fidgeting with the shaft of the claw hammer that was hanging from one of his belt loops.

Telling me not to worry wasn’t going to stop me worrying, but I appreciated him saying it anyway.

“You’re so sweet,” he said happily. He braced his arms either side of the door and leaned in, ducking his head to kiss me.

I kissed him back then disengaged and said, “I am not sweet, goddammit.”

“You are, though.” He hunkered down and flipped his toolbox open.

I stared at his broad back as he rummaged through his tools, somewhat nonplussed that this twenty-four-year-old man was bossing me about, calling me sweet, setting me reeling…and I was letting him do it.

I wasenjoyingit.

I reached out without thinking and touched his hair. He twisted to look up at me. “Your hair’s damp,” I said.

“Yep. I went home and got a quick shower in. I’m sorry about all that shit back at the gym. The fake-flat-tyre shit. I kind of lost it.” He scratched the side of his nose and looked, for the first time since I’d known him, a bit embarrassed. “Don’t know what happened. I didn’t like seeing Jasper with his hands all over you, I suppose. It sort of flipped my switch. Sorry.”

“Oh. That’s…that’s okay.”

He was jealous?

“I was so jealous,” Kevin said with a laugh, turning back to his toolbox. He pulled out a compartment and hummed before selecting an enormous crowbar with a wide, flat head. “Iwant to be the one behind you, Charlie,” he said, and squinted up at me over his shoulder. The light struck his eyes, making the soft brown glow a deep, warm amber. “And on top of you. All over you, really.”

I was busy flailing for a response to this honest statement when a van pulled up with music playing so loudly that I felt the bass throbbing in my chest. The driver tooted the horn, switched the music off, and wound down the passenger side window. “Keviiiiin!”

Kevin looked up and waved. “Door’s here,” he told me.

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