Page 50 of The Weight Of Falling
Joel stares at him for a long, charged moment. Then he turns to me. “Sweetheart,” he says, drawing out the endearment deliberately, “do you know what you’re getting into?”
There’s a quiet irony in his question, since we both know I’m the one who dragged us into this mess.
I loop my arm through his, trying to look like someone who belongs at his side. He stays stiff beneath my touch. We’re not selling this.
“Actually,” I confess, “I’m the one who forced Joel’s hand.”
“You?” Bobby snorts. “Come on. You’re a pushover, Kenzie. You’re not capable of forcing anyone’s hand.”
Joel shifts closer to me, casually resting a hand at the small of my back. “You might want to rethink what you say next,” he warns Bobby with narrowed eyes. “That’s my fiancée you’re talking to.”
Bobby exhales sharply before shaking his head and looking at me with something like regret. “For your sake, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Without another word, he turns and walks away.
I release a shaky breath and step out of Joel’s hold.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, even though my pulse is still hammering. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, his eyes hard. “I did.”
I knot the towel in my hands, my stomach sinking. “I think our low-key plan just went up in flames.”
Joel exhales slowly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. He looks furious. At Bobby. At me. Oddly enough, the person he seems most furious with is himself. “Your idiot ex is like a red flag to me.”
“Bobby,” I remind him gently.
“Idiot ex feels more accurate.” He clears the gruffness from his voice. “He’s not your type.”
“You’re not my type either,” I retort, stung.
That gets his attention. His brow furrows. “No?”
“No.”My type is someone who actually wants me back.
Joel looks at me for a beat too long, then says, “Let me guess your type.”
“Let’s not,” I say quickly, alarm flaring.
“You go for men you can manage,” he continues. “The ones who fit in neat little boxes. Who’d probably pass out if you kissed them in a storeroom.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that kind of man.”
“They’re not for you.”
Indignation rolls through me. “Yes, they are.”
“You only think you want someone safe. But they’d bore you. You’d never be satisfied with that type.”
The deep rasp of his voice skates over my nerve endings. And his words, with their sharp edges, burrow their way under my skin. Some traitorous part of me wonders if he’s right.
“You don’t see it, do you?” he asks abruptly.
I blink. “See what?”
A low, dark kind of laugh escapes him. “The way men look at you. You honestly have no idea how attractive you are.”
