Page 36 of Someone to Hold
Is her something else anything like mine?
Which involvesnottalking.
“It’s nice,” she says as she looks around the small space.
One of her crutches catches on the top step, and she loses her balance, something I’m coming to expect and continue to find adorable. Also not complaining about an excuse to put my hands on her again.
Her cheeks turn a rosier pink as I lower her onto the small couch. Princess, who is not a fan of people in general, vacated the space when she heard another voice.
“Are those granite counters?” she asks, her eyes darting around the interior, clearly trying to look anywhere but at me.
I grin. “Were you expecting chipped Formica?”
She makes a face. “Along with pizza boxes, beer cans, and posters of women in bikinis.”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” I take a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge and hand it to her.
“That’s fair,” she admits.
“I can go back to showering at my friend’s place.” I sit next to her, and when her eyes widen a fraction, I realize I should have sat a little farther away. There’s not much space forfartherin this trailer. “I don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities again.”
She rolls her eyes. “My sensibilities are not delicate. You just caught me off guard.”
“In a good or bad way?” I can’t help but ask.
“I’m not answering that.” Her eyes flash, a direct contrast to her tone.
“I’ll remember to bring my clothes up next time.”
“Why do you think I have delicate sensibilities?” She inclines her head like a teacher addressing a particularly recalcitrant student. “I was knocked up when Teddy married me. So you know I’m not that innocent.”
I swallow back a laugh. “Did you just quote Britney Spears to me?”
“Not intentionally. But also, why do you recognize Britney lyrics?”
“My sister can take credit for that, too. Kind of the pre-Taylor era, you know?”
“Sure.”
But the tilt of her chin tells me she’s still bothered by the delicate sensibilities comment. “I didn’t mean it in a negative way. I’m trying to be respectful.”
Her brows furrow. “Maybe I’m not looking for respect,” she murmurs, as much to herself as to me.
Heat shoots through me at her words, and I have to dig my fingers into the arm of the sofa to keep from moving closer.
“What are you looking for, Molly?” I pitch my voice low, making damn sure she knows exactly what I’m thinking about.
She’s in the middle of taking another drink and starts choking on it.
I smile as I take the bottle from her and place it on the table. Watching her come undone might be my new favorite pastime.
“Don’t do that,” she tells me.
“I thought you were going to spill it.”
“Not the water. I don’t care about the water. Don’t pretend to flirt with me.”
“Who said anything about pretending?”
