Page 79 of Book Boyfriends
“You have a big heart. If I didn’t have years of stories from my grandparents, the last few days of getting to know you have shown me that. Who else would give a man who insulted her a second chance, after all?” he says, humor sparking in his features. “I may be overstepping, but like you said, sometimes we do things for the people we care…uh, like. And I like you, Peach.”
A gentle current zips between us. The charge ripples through my entire body, sparking every cell awake with want. A want I shouldn’t have, but at this moment, it’s the only thing I can think of. To throw caution to the wind, closing the inches between us and sealing my lips against his. To just fall into this moment with no thought of tomorrow.
A tomorrow that may leave him hurt and left behind.That thought dims the electric pulse urging me closer to Davis. How many people have already used and discarded him because of their wants? Lars may tut that I’m just trying to guard my heart, but it’s also about Davis. Right now, there’s no guarantee for us, and I don’t want to string him along.
“It’s not overstepping, you’re being a good friend,” I murmur, releasing his hand.
His mouth lifts into a wry smile. “A good friend.”
“Speaking of friends, I’m keeping you from yours.” I lean against the chair’s hard back, its sturdiness bolstering my resolve to stay in place, to keep distance between us. Clearly, I can’t be trusted to make good decisions around this man.
“Just some of the department heads from No Boundaries. Jackson wrangled us into a happy hour.” He tips his head toward the table where Jackson sits, Lars beside him, his tree-trunk-sized arm wrapped around my brother’s shoulders.
“Of course, he did.” I shake my head.
It’s no surprise this run-in is Jackson-orchestrated. Even if my younger brother would never make a move on Lars without my literal thumbs up, he pines with the best of them. No doubt the green-eyed monster took control of his good senses, leading him to come spy on our date under the guise of a happy hour.
“You should get back to them. You’re the boss and all that.” I motion to him.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“I… I shouldn’t.” Hesitation thickens in my throat causing the words to come out strangled. “I should head home. I’ve been out a lot this week and need to spend some time with Wentworth.”
“Okay.” He stands up. “Let’s go.”
“Excuse me?” I cough out.
“I hate happy hours. Making small talk with people I just spent nine hours with, at a loud bar that doesn’t even serve french fries, is my idea of a nightmare.”
“Why did you come then?”
“Jackson asked.”
“You don’t have to do something just because someone asks.”
“Okay, Lady Cecily,” he teases.
“Ha…ha,” I mock laugh with an exaggerated eye roll. “It’s totally different. Jackson won’t be hurt if you don’t come out with him. Why come?”
“I like your brother. He knows I hate happy hours, so when he asks me to join, I know it’s something important to him.”
“Like agreeing to go on a happy hour date with his sister?” It comes out more sarcastic than I intend.
“Yes.” He clicks his tongue. “Full disclosure… I’d seen pictures of you on your brother’s social media, so it was easy to say yes.”
Oh.It’s so fucking cliché, but heat flushes my cheeks, nonetheless. It’s not that I don’t know that Davis is attracted tome, but the unexpected sense of validation makes me question my feminist ethics.
“You’d be doing yourfrienda solid by letting me escape this ritualistic torture masquerading as social bonding.” Smirking, he looks toward Jackson. “Plus, I’m sure your brother or his friend wouldn’t let you go home by yourself.”
Ugh. Stupid overprotective brother and his werewolf.My brow dips with frustration. While whatever is happening with Jackson and Lars complicates things, I don’t want to preempt their time together. It may be short enough as it is.
“By letting me take you home, you’d be helping out me and your brother. You live for that stuff,” he says, a soft chuckle curls his lips.
Thwarted by my peachiness.Laughing, I stand up. “You can take me home.”
Davis parks his car in front of the house, right behind my vehicle. I peer between the house and him. Outside of Hope’s SUV and my car in the driveway, and a light on downstairs, it’s quiet. Just like the last time he brought me home. A zing travels along my nerves with the memory of him pressing me against the back gate.
“Do you need to walk Wentworth?” he asks.
