Page 56 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

“Right. That never happened.” She gives me a little wink. I’m a bit slow this morning, but I finally caught on. “Also, never look in my nightstand.” I give her a wink right back.

“Ooh, do tell. What do you keep in your nightstand, Welly?”

“Nothing that innocent eyes like yours should ever see.” I start down the stairs again, chuckling.

“Gah, I’m so intrigued now. Why do you tease me so?” She trails me, giggling.

“Because it’s fun.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” I don’t have to turn back to know she rolled her eyes. And she won’t see the big grin I’m wearing the rest of the way down the staircase. I can’t even explain why I’m in such a good mood, other than she just makes me happy.

When I hand the nightstand to Cade, who’s standing in the back of the truck, he says, “About time, man. At this rate, it’s going to take all morning.”

“There’s not much left.” He turns to pack the nightstand against the mattress. I rest against the bumper, and ask, “Did you guys know she has a mug collection?”

Jackson starts cackling. “Everyone knows that.”

“I didn’t.”

Cade hops down, tapping my forehead as he passes. “Because you haven’t been paying attention.”

I swat him away. Although he might be right, I can’t give him the satisfaction. As a matter of fact, when I give it some thought, I know he’s right. When she’s in a relationship, my attraction to her is dead on arrival with nowhere to go. It was easier to keep a wall, even a poorly built one, between us than seeing her with another guy.

Tealey Bell is off-limits because she has always been on my mind . . .not because she is. It’s been a good tool to protect my thoughts from straying her way, though one I’ve failed miserably at lately.

All I can deduce is that is why my mind has been all over the place with her, why I suddenly feel the need to see her face, wonder what she’s wearing, and figure out why she has so many damn coffee cups.

When she was dating someone else, it was easy to admire her but not pine when I’d see her at dinner with the group or joke across a table at brunch.

Pine?

No, that’s not what I do.

I don’tpine.

“. . . shirt.” I’m about to bat Cade away again but realize it’s Tealey tapping me on the shoulder. “Your shirt,” she says, rubbing my arm.

I glance between my sleeve and her eyes that are fixed on my bicep. With her teeth tugging on her bottom lip, I lose my train of thought. “Huh?”

She lowers her hand to my stomach. “And here. That’s two spots.” My body tenses under her touch, curious where she’s heading next.

“Two spots?” I repeat like an idiot who’s being rubbed by a beautiful woman . . . oh, right. I take her hand, stopping her because we’re entering dangerous territory with my mind going dumb and my body reacting on its own.

She looks up, and I might be mistaken, but seeing a gleam in her eye, I’m wondering if she already knows. “You’ve got something black on your shirt. Looks like grease.” She carries on, oblivious to how she has my entire being responding to her touch. Holding her hand up in front of her face, she analyzes her fingers before turning them toward me. “Yeah, definitely grease.”

The connection felt when she ran her nails across my palm to take the key amplifies under the pressure of her touch today. We don’t usually touch, but I’m wishing we did because every time we do, I feel it throughout my entire body. “Grease?” I ask.

She pokes the two spots again. “Don’t worry. I might be able to bleach it.”

Cammie calls her back to the entrance of the building, and she goes running. As much as I like having her hands on me, the view when she walks away is so damn good.

I catch Mr. Meisler watching me, and he waves me over. “Hey, how’re you doing, kid?” he asks when I approach. He sips his coffee, eyeing me.

“Pretty good, sir. Yourself?”

“Not too bad.”

With a cigarette tucked between his two fingers, he points at the truck. “I saw what was happening, and it seemed you were blowing it.”

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