Page 36 of Curveball
I sputter out, “How are you not plagued with even one itty bitty insecurity?”
He grins and looks into my eyes. “Would that make you feel better?”
His palm is calloused, his fingers are long, and there’s a tuft of fine dark hair on the knuckle of each.
I scowl. I’m overthinking this. Of course, I am.
Am I, though?
He lightly presses his free hand to the small of my back, not leading me anywhere, simply touching me as if he can’t resist, and creating adistractingsource of contact.
“Look, the way I see it, we’ve been through the hard part. You were pissed, I was pissed. We worked through that”—he lifts a nonchalant shoulder and the corner of his lip quirks—“Mostly. Now you only think I’m an absent father rather thaninattentive.” I open my mouth to respond, but he barrels along with, “And maybe I think you’re only . . . protective.”
I arch a brow. “Instead of?”
The night I met him, in the bathroom hallway, he traced the back of my hand all the way to my nail with the tip of his finger. It was sensuous and befuddling. I flip our hands over so his palm lays on mine and do that to him now. The movement causes him to yank his hand back with something like . . . a snort laugh.
I giggle, eyes wide. “Mighty Max isticklish?”
“Maybe,” he grumbles, then puts his fingertips to his lips and mimes zipping them.
Maybe, my ass.And I grin, because I know a secret.Hissecret.
“It’s going to cost you, buddy. I still want to know myinstead.”
He looks away, then blows out a lip-sputtering breath.
“Max!”
“Arrogant. Okay? You feel better now?”
I do, but, “Arrogant? Where the hell did that?—”
“Assumptions, all right? I didn’t know you yet, and I was . . .”
He thinks he’s going to leave the end of this sentence to dangle?
“Ooh, no. Don’t stop now,” I say on an amused chuckle.
He peers down at me for the longest time before a flash of humor glints in his eyes—right before he huffs out an amused breath and rolls those baby blues at me.
“Wrong. I made a bad assumption and I . . . Damn it, woman, I’m sorry.”
I stare, because . . .unexpected.
“Wow. Okay. Forgiven.” Even given the delivery, that was a whopper of an apology. I swivel my hand under his, spread my fingers wide, and entwine them with his.
He blows out a deep breath.
“So, we’re still us?” He’s tense, as though this is important to him. But I know what he means. Our relationship—friendship?situationship?—was born in the ether, conceived using electronic devices.Is this real? Is this what we want?
I nod, my head bobbing softly with my thoughts.
“Mighty Max, with your ridiculous schedule, this is about asusas we’re going to get.”
His slow smile appears. “You okay with that?”
“If this is a preview, I think it might be all I can take.”
