Page 33 of Own the Eights
She came to her feet. “Okay, well, goodbye.”
He shot up. “Goodbye?”
“Yeah, we did the whole grocery store challenge and now—”
“Now, we strategize. We come up with a plan,” he answered, cutting her off.
“Well, I need to get back to my car and call for a jump. Then, I need to go home and feed my dog.”
“Sergeant Wednesday?” he asked, but his smirk said he knew damn well that wasn’t her sweet pup’s name.
“Mr. Tuesday,” she corrected.
“All right, then. Let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To get your car, Georgiana. I’ll drive you back and give you a jump.”
There he was with theGeorgianaagain.
She ignored the butterflies in her belly. “That’s okay. I can walk.”
He glanced around. “It’s dark out.”
She shook her head. “It’s dusk.”
“It’s more dark than light,” he replied, exasperation infused in his tone.
“Yeah, that’s the definition of dusk,” she threw back.
He took a step toward her. “Can we not argue about this? I’m not letting you walk through the city all alone at night.”
She lifted her chin. “At dusk.”
“Jesus! At dusk! I’m not leaving you alone at dusk,” he answered in full-blown frustration mode.
She was about to recommend that he try a guided meditation to chill out when warmth radiated through her hand. She glanced down and found that somewhere in their tussle over the definition of dusk, he’d taken her hand into his.
His expression softened. “Let me drive you back to your car and give it a jump. Then we can head to your place and walk Officer Friday.”
“It’s Mr. Tuesday,” she corrected, but this time, without the sass.
He looked at their hands then let go, taking a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
Despite despising ninety-nine percent about this guy, she liked the way her hand felt in his. The warmth. The protective sweetness. The heat that said these hands want to grip your ass and kiss you like there’s no tomorrow.
But that could not happen. Not again.
“No more technique demonstrations. We have to act like professionals,” she said, the words tasting bitter and disingenuous.
He flexed his hands, then crossed his arms. “I agree. From here on out, it’s all about the blog competition,” he supplied, but his declaration didn’t quiet the butterflies still flapping away in her belly.
You cannot fall for this ten, Georgie.
Her trifecta was back, minus the fans, and armed with girl power.
Think of Brice Casey. Think of your dreams.
