Page 26 of How You See Me
Me:Right. I’ll save that for my hunky chauffeur. [Winky face emoji]
Jordan:Please don’t.
Me:Joking! I have no interest in your friend.
Liar.
My body tells a different story. It hums when he’s near, even when he’s stone silent. He doesn’t flirt or flatter—he doesn’t need to. There’s something maddeningly magnetic about a man who doesn’t play the game.
But I’ve had a year of being single. A full twelve months to patch myself back together after years of shrinking inside to fit inside someone else’s grander life. I’m not about to ruin all that work for a few persistent butterflies and curious desire. I should be concentrating on my career. My freedom. The messy, beautiful work of figuring out who I am.
Not the man currently scrubbing my paint brushes.
But I’d be lying if I said that didn’t add to his appeal.
I toss a few toiletries into the suitcase and zip it up, doing my best not to think about his hands or how he looked when he walked in. So composed on the outside butwound tight inside like he was protecting himself. From what, I’d love to know.
Every resistance, every grouchy complaint, and every secret only pulls me farther in.
No matter the danger, I can’t help but wonder just how far he’ll go to hold the line he’s drawn.
???
To make the chore of cramming half my tiny closet into a suitcase less dreadful, I blast my favorite country playlist and let the music carry me through it. It’s chaos, but it’s mine.
The scent of smoke, meat, and something distinctly male smacks me in the face the second I emerge. I find it all in the kitchen, where three perfectly grilled chicken breasts sit neatly on one of my antique yellow serving dishes. The broccoli and rice casserole I made steams on the stove beside them.
The man I can’t tear my eyes from leans against the counter. With his tree trunk arms crossed over his chest, his presence radiates heat and tension on every conceivable level.
My feet stay glued to the linoleum. “Wow. You’ve been busy.”
“The raw chicken would’ve gone bad while we’re away. And I can’t be idle.”
“Why does it smell like you grilled it?”
“Because I did.”
“On what?”
“The grill in the commons area out back.”
“There’s a grill out there?”
My limbs finally remember how to move, and I step into the closet-sized kitchen. Hayes shifts back to give me space. Part of me hates the way he shrinks away like that. The other part—the one I’m trying hard to let win—reminds me why distance is the smartest choice.
I have no reason to swoon over this effort. He didn’t make a romantic dinner for us. He was passing time.
“Thank you. I’d planned on cooking all this for Jordan and Nora, but we never found a night we could get together. I don’t eat much meat—it’s too much work when it’s just me.”
“That’s why I like the mess hall on base.” He wipes his hands with a towel, muscles flexing beneath his sleeves, playing wildly unfair games with my concentration. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. I haven’t burned that many calories in a long time.”
“Since when is packing a workout?”
“Since I do it while dancing. You should try it sometime.” I picture his bulky, six-three frame, dancing around the room to a steel guitar. I’d laugh if the idea wasn’t so sexy.
His raised brow tells me he knows exactly what I’m imagining, yet he doesn’t address it. “I heard the music blaring.”
