Page 41 of Like A Daydream
“What’s on the beads?” she asks. He crosses the room and holds his wrist out for her so she can look closer.
This man has forearms to die for, tanned and strong, with corded muscle that can only scream ‘hockey player’. His arm flexes and she’s not sure if he does it on purpose.
“Nineteen was my number in high school,” he says, showing her the first bead, he slides the second and third beads around the cord, “seventy-four was college, twenty-six was my number when I played in the Olympics, and thirty-four is my number now.”
“Okay, we’re definitely not going to pretend you didn’t just say you played in theOlympics,” she says, “because seriously what the hell?”
“I mean, we didn’t even place, but yeah, that was a thing,” he says with a shrug, “I don’t really bring it up much. People tend to forget if you don’t win.”
“That’s still insane,” Danielle says, “that means you’re one of the best players in theworld, not just America.”
“When you put it like that, it really does something for my ego,” Andrew says, grinning. “Not that I needed it.”
“What do you need a fidget for?” she asks, lifting her eyes to his. He suddenly looks unsure of himself, and he pulls his hand back so he can twist the beads around before stuffing it in his pocket.
“It helps me stay grounded,” he offers with a shrug. “I’m going to get to work.”
He walks away, and she feels like she’s just been given a moment of raw vulnerability from him. She wonders if he thinks they’re even, or if her crying in his arms a few days before made him feel like he could share with her.
Whatever it is, she’s going to keep it close, hold onto it. She wants him to feel safe with her, and she desperately wants to feel safe with him.
In the afternoon, they have a rush that sends Danielle to the stock room more than once to retrieve customer requests. Andrew has been in and out, too, looking for things that customers assure him “must be in the back”, even though she knows good and well they definitely do not have an Arabic version ofThe Crucibleanywhere in the store.
Anywhere in the state, probably, but that’s neither here nor there.
She’s lucky she’s gotten easy-to-find requests, mostly, and they have had a couple on the backstock shelves that they hadn’t gotten around to putting out.
Like the one she’s reaching for now. She’s not short by any means, and she thought she could grab it without getting the step stool but the copy ofThe Hunger Gamesthat she needs isjustout of reach.
“Oh, come on,” she says, stretching higher on her tiptoes. Her fingers just brush the spine, and she drops back down with a huff.
She feels Andrew before she knows he’s there.
Somehow, in a week, she’s become hyperaware of him. Of the way the air shifts when he moves, of his body heat when it enters her space.
Of how her heart races whenever he locks eyes with her, no matter how briefly it happens.
“I’ll get it,” he says, voice low, breath soft against her ear as he presses the length of his body against her back and reaches for the book. His free hand settles on her waist, thumb drawing a soft circle on her skin where her shirt has ridden up.
Her skin erupts into goosebumps and she takes a step back, shifting further against him. She feels his breath hitch, the strong muscles of his chest against her back and his arm slips around her.
Danielle turns, looks up at him, sets a hand on his chest to steady herself from the heat in his gaze.
“Here,” he says, voice even as he holds the book up for her to take. She wraps her hand around the spine, their fingers brushing, and she doesn’t miss the spark that travels down her arm.
“Thank you,” she replies, a nervous laugh escaping her, “advantage of having a giant hockey player around, I guess.”
“There are others,” Andrew says, not dropping his arm from her waist. He takes a step forward, crowding her space as she presses back against the shelf. Her hands are stuck between them, one holding the book and the other flat against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat under her fingers, and she knows hers is matching the pace of his.
“Others?” she asks stammering the word, unfamiliar with this Andrew.
He’s been sexy the entire time, you’d have to be blind not to see it. Now, she can feel what she’s only been able to imagine. The strong muscles in his chest, the way his hands feel against her skin, soft but assured, and she knows he can see the effect he’s having on her. She knows her skin is heating and her heart is practically beating out of her chest.
He skims his fingers along her waist, full length of his body pressed up against her. He leans in and if he kisses her she doesn’t think she’ll stop him, even though it’s a terrible idea.
The heady scent of his cologne is fogging up her mind, and the blue of his eyes makes her want to drown in them.
At the last second, he turns his head so his jaw slides against hers, scruff scratching against her cheek in the most delicious way.
