Page 72 of Sunny Goes Cold Turkey
“Hi. Sorry, Mercer was just checking in,” I say to no one except Anders, who is at the sink washing his hands. There’s no sign ofanyone else. It’s just me and Anders Beck, the celebrity heartthrob adored by millions who just admitted that he loves me. But he doesn’t know that I know and he is standing right there.
“Everything okay back home?” he asks, with a flash of his dimple. He washes up and down his forearms, scrubbing away the drying thinset. The movement makes the veins in his arms and hands distractingly prominent.
“Yeah,” I mumble. I’m staring at his arms. I know I am, but I also can’t look at him anywhere else and keep my wits about me. His dimple is unsafe. He even has a clump of thinset stuck in his messy hair that’s making me want to run my fingers through it. “Where is… where’s…” My brain is frozen, ogling his hands while he dries them on a red dish towel.Spit it out, Sunny.
He’s smirking in a way that says he knows exactly why I can’t look at him. Or like he knows I have an incriminating communiqué hidden in my pocket. His blue eyes dance like he’s holding in a laugh.
“Where is everyone?” He finishes my question for me, letting me off the hook. “We talked my mom into getting take-out from this pizza place we grew up on. They all left a few minutes ago. I’m surprised you didn’t see them pull out.”
I’m not surprised. My nose was glued to my phone in panic mode. “That’s…” Anders walks around the counter closer to me, and whatever I was going to say leaves my brain.He loves me.
He leans against the counter next to me. “Good?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“You okay?” He bumps me with his elbow. “Sorry you've been working through your whole weekend off. I owe you another vacation.”
That snaps me out of it. “No, you do not. I’m having fun, trust me.” The last thing I need is for this man to make any more effort on my behalf. He’s already too hard to resist. “I love projects like this. It’s relaxing to me.”
His phone buzzes on the counter and he ignores it. “I hope so. You’re getting the full Abrahamson treatment. Heavy labor and comfort food.”
“Two of my favorite things.” It’s the truth. Very few combinations of activities are more satisfying.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I can tell he’s distracted by his ringing phone.
“You should get that.”
“Nah. It’s Ollie. I’ll call him back.”
“What if it’s an emergency?”
“It’s never an emergency with Oliver. Hey, what did Immy’s note say this morning?”
I can tell he’s trying to deflect and distract me. Little does he know, I invented that tactic. “Want me to talk to him?”
His face makes me think he’s considering it and I’m worried he’ll call my bluff. I’m not talking to Oliver. He’s frightening. Luckily, the buzzing stops and we’re both saved.
“So…” he trails off.
“So?” I’m so awkward around him now that I know he’s in love with me. It was all fun and games when the stakes were lower. Now, there’s pressure I can’t ignore. And it’s not helping anything that Anders looks like he just finished some construction-themed photo shoot. He’s all messy hair, muscles, and sweat from hard labor.
“My brothers are staying the night.” He clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable.
“Good. You guys probably don’t get to see each other often, right?” And I like them. They’re easy to talk to. Liam is smart. I can tell he makes Anders toe the line. And Josh is hilarious. It’s fun to see how the brothers interact.
“I guess.” He seems less than thrilled.
I understand why when our sleeping arrangements are sorted out later that night. After a day of hard labor and heavy food, we’reall ready for sleep. We found Imogen dead asleep on the bottom bunk in Anders’ bedroom-slash-Mariah shrine hours ago. Because Anders slept in Josh and Liam’s room last night, the only place left for him is with me and Imogen. He makes a sad little bed on the carpet, even though I’ve told him repeatedly that I can take the couch, the floor, the bathtub, or anything. I feel so guilty about this arrangement.
“Ready?” He holds a hand to the light switch, waiting for me to make the ascent to the top bunk.
I’ve brushed my teeth and washed all traces of mortar out of my hair, leaving it dripping on my shoulders. The climb up the rickety wooden ladder is the final obstacle of this crazy day. I make my way up the steps and crawl under the comforter and sheets as quickly as I can. “Yep.” I tug the comforter around me as darkness falls over the little room.
My eyes are starting to adjust to the dim nightlight when the bed wobbles precariously. Is Anders climbing the ladder?
“What are you doing?” I hiss, fully aware that his brothers next door will be privy to our full conversation. And I have no interest in Imogen discovering us like this; I don’t care what her note said.
“Coming to hang out with my girl,” his deep voice warms the dark room. There’s an unspoken “obviously” in his tone that makes my toes curl. “I promise I’m not sleeping up here. My mom would kill me. She’s like your mom.”
