Page 29 of Hand Picked
I lay back down against the shingles. “I appreciate your concern, but just leave the ladder propped up here, and I’ll come down later. Also, it must be said, you are terrible at apologizing.”
“I’ll apologize when you come down. And… I brought ice cream.”
I sat up and leaned forward again, eyes narrowed. “Ice cream?”
He held up a white plastic bag that had been lying on a snowbank. “Two pints of Boston Cream Pie.”
“That’s… that’s my favorite,” I said suspiciously.
“No kidding. You’re always buying out Chuck’s entire supply so there’s none left for m—for anyone else who’d like to buy some.”
I rolled my eyes, but I had to admit I was getting cold… and ice cream, even in the dead of winter, was my kryptonite. “Fine, then. Hoist the ladder.”
Webb did more than hoist it—he kicked away the snow on the ground to find a stable place to set it, and when that didn’t work to his satisfaction, he braced the ladder with both hands.
“Come on down,” he directed. “Take it slow, okay?”
Once again, I rolled my eyes. “I know how to descend a ladder. I got up here, didn’t I?” I swung myself carefully off the roof and onto the top rung and quickly clambered down. “I don’t need your… h-help.”
My hand brushed Webb’s arm, and too late, I realized that the way he stood meant that I was essentially climbing backward into his embrace. My knees were on a level with his head, and if I kept going, my ass would be—
I swallowed hard, my face going hot. “I’m almost down. You can let go now.”
“Nah. Go ahead and get all the way to the ground.”
“I’ve got it from here,” I insisted.
“You’re too high,” he shot back. “Three more steps. And quit rocking the ladder.”
“I’m not rocking it! You’re making me nervous. Step away!”
“Get down first!”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m perfectly safe—” I tilted sideways to glare at him, and my foot slipped on the metal rung. I grabbed for the ladder and overbalanced, making the ladder tip precariously… with me on it.
“Jesus fuck, Luke,” Webb cried. He pushed the ladder away with one hand and hauled me back against his muscled chest with the other. His beard tickled the exposed skin at the back of my neck, and suddenly, I was very aware that he was holding me. Hugging me. His free hand came around my waist, where my jacket had rucked up, and held me tighter, his bare fingers somehow hot against my skin.
It was not a big deal, but it alsowas.And an uncomfortable truth I’d been trying not to acknowledge for months bubbled up from my chest.
I was attracted to Webb Sunday.
And not attracted in a “yes, he’s a handsome man of symmetrical features” sort of way, which anyone would have to admit about Webb, but in a “holy son of a beaver, I would like to lay myself out in the snow like a buffet and beg this man to lick me up” way.
Despite all the other mortifying things I’d done in Webb’s presence, this one struck me as extra embarrassing. He was the father of my student. Thestraightfather of my student. He’d actively disliked me until the night before, and I wasn’t sure he liked me much better now for all that we were “friends”…
And yet, when his finger accidentally slid a millimeter below the waistband of my jeans to glance over my hip bone—my hip bone, of all places!—my dick twitched.
So much for my baseline minimum standards.
I was so screwed.
Mortified, I squirmed out of his grip and launched myself sideways into the snowbank—note to self, snow wasn’t nearly as soft as it appeared—which would have made for an awkward move under the best of circumstances. But I’d somehow forgotten that Webb was still clinging to me, trying really hard not to let me fall, and since he was unaware that I’d been trying to get away since I’d failed to use words, I’d pulled him with me… then landed on top of him.
“Hnn—ffff,” he groaned from beneath me.
“Sorry! Oh, shoot.Shoot, shoot, shoot.I’m so sorry!” I rolled off him, heedless of the ice pellets going up the bottom of my jacket and down the back of my jeans, especially when I saw he was lying in the snowdrift with his eyes closed, unmoving.
“Webb?” I ripped my glove off with my teeth and stroked a hand over his cheek. His beard was softer than it looked, which was really kinda…
