Page 82 of Redemption
It’s stupid, staking a claim on a girl that isn’t mine, but there’s an invisible string pulling me to her. She leans in close to me, the heat of her skin seeping under my shirt, right over the tattoo of her name.
“Seeing as we didn’t even exchange names last time we met, I don’t think you’ll be too heartbroken,” MJ says, her temper bubbling just below the surface.
“Theo,” he says, sticking his hand out. “But I already know your name.”
I step forward, offering him mine instead of MJ’s. “Well, the women of Benton Falls do like to gossip. But don’t believe all the rumors you hear about me.”
I’m not stupid. I know he was talking to MJ, but I hate how he presumes to know her because he knows her last name.
His smirk falls, and he reluctantly slides his attention away from MJ to me. His gaze is sharp, assessing—a competitor sizing up their competition.
MJ’s hand slides around my bicep, and it’s pure male pride that causes my chest to puff out. She may not be mine, but she’ll at least let this guy think she is.
Theo watches the movement, his dark eyes revealing nothing.
“Can’t say that I’ve heard any of them.”
I shake my head. “Such a shame then because the only way you’ll get to know MJ here is if you get to know me first.”
Theo’s eyes narrow, his lips pulling back to show his white teeth. “I think she can decide for herself. If what I hear is true, she’s quite—feisty.”
“You’re right, I am.” MJ looks bored, checking her nails as she speaks to him, but the way her hand tightens on my arm says otherwise. “But let’s be honest, you probably couldn’t handle me.”
His lips pull back more, revealing more of his teeth. He’s enjoying this game—this chase he thinks he will win—but I’ve played this game with MJ. She will shred him to pieces.
“We’ll see,” Theo says, then turns to me. “May the better man win.”
My fingers curl into fists, and if it weren’t for MJ’s hand on my arm, holding onto me, I would have decked the guy.
With one final wink at MJ and a salute to me, Theo saunters off, not bothering to look back.
MJ’s hand falls from my arm. The good mood from before Theo showed up dissipated.
“Come on,” MJ says, keeping distance between us. “Let’s go find my furniture. I’m ready to go home.”
“Don’t let him get to you, MJ,” I say, reaching for her arm, but she pulls it away, tucking it behind her.
With a shrug, she says, “I’m tired of people assuming they know me because of my last name. But I knew what I was getting into when I moved back here. I knew that the identity I have fought tooth and nail for would disappear when I set foot back in this town.”
“That’s not true.”
Another shrug. “Isn’t it?”
“No, MJ, it isn’t. Do you want me to tell you what I see when I look at you?”
Her fingers tap against her leg, just below where her shorts meet smooth skin. I take one step toward her, but she retreats. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but she underestimates myneedto catch her.
Another step forward, and her back is against the shelf with nowhere for her to go. I rest my hand on the metal behind her shoulder, trapping her in so she has to hear what I have to say.
“I see a woman who had to overcome a tragedy but never crumbled under it. I see someone who cares about the people in her life so much she’s willing to lose herself in helping them. You’re someone who fought to find the person you wanted to be after that tragedy nearly knocked you down. You’re smart, and kind, and beautiful. You’re all those things—the only thing I can’t say is that you’re mine. But one day, MJ,” I say, leaning forward so our mouths are a hairsbreadth apart. “One day, I want to be able to say that too.”
Her eyes flash, confusion and gratitude swimming in the blue pools of her irises. With what little self-control I have left, I shove off the shelf, giving her space to breathe and take in what I said.
Clapping my hands together, as if I didn’t just lay all my cards on the table, I grin down at her. “What kind of mattress are we shopping for today?”
______________________
After spending three hours furniture shopping with MJ, I’m surprised I’m not bald.
