Page 29 of Tinder Embrace
I clenched my hands. Maybe if I gripped tightly enough, I’d weld the two halves of myself together into some semblance of an answer.
"It's one of the many reasons this probably wouldn't work." I kept my delivery matter-of-fact with an effort. It was nothing less than the truth.
The flash of disappointment on Sophie’s face struck like an arrow to the heart. I hated seeing her in any pain, but couldn’t stop causing it.
"Davis, do you want me?" she asked.
"Yes." My answer popped out. She deserved the truth.
"Are you worried about it getting weird if we don't work out?"
"Maybe."
"Me too," she said. "Do you want to try anyway?"
"Probably too much," I admitted. “Jo is going to kill me if I mess this up, but I like you. And I am not used to liking anybody.”
She grabbed my good hand, leading me back toward the kitchen as if I’d spit out a sonnet instead of a basic apology.
"Good."
She offered me a fresh ice pack from the freezer before tugging me to the living room couch. Her matter-of-fact approach after I struggled to string two sentences together to explain myself and reassure her touched me. She seemed to sense that I’d confessed as much as I was capable of for one night.
She chattered about her lesson plans for the next day, watching me as the cold pack did the trick. "You look like you're feeling better."
I grunted my agreement, and she smoothed the hem of her pink pajamas. I couldn’t look away from her pink fingernails brushing over the fabric, mesmerizing me with visions of her stroking me. She stilled, sensing my attention.
"Everything you own is soft and colorful. Or covered in sequins. Do you even own a piece of clothing in a practical color?” I asked more gruffly than I intended.
She squinted, annoyance flashing across her features. "Depends on how you define practical."
My frown deepened. I’d managed to make staring less creepy, but I’d offended her in the process. Apologizing would be the gentlemanly thing to do. But it was easier to antagonize her than to admit that everything about her turned me on. Fighting my attraction for her was a losing battle.
"The usual way. Suitable for a particular purpose. Functional. Sensible. Useful."
"Oh. You meanboring." She shook her head. "Yeah, I try to avoid that. It's bad for business."
"What business? Balloon business?"
She shrugged, biting back a smile when she noticed I was mesmerized by her rounded shoulder. Creamy and soft, fantasies of tracing kisses along the silky fabric and discovering the treasures beneath gripped me. Her wide-necked sleep shirt wasn't strictlypractical, but she was picking up on the fact that I didn’t mind one darned bit.
She rolled her head, the motion emphasizing the tendons in her slim neck. My mouth went dry. I wanted nothing more than to strip her out of her soft pink pajamas and worship.
"Balloon business, classroom business, life. I'm pretty sure being colorful is a job requirement at Bluff Elementary. Think of it as a kind of reverse-camo to fit in with the elementary kids and keep their attention."
It sure as fuck worked on me. If she had any more of my attention, I’d stroke out from lack of blood flow to my brain.
I squinted, trying to focus on stringing together a coherent response. "So your wardrobe is a strategic choice?"
"Exactly," she said, looking pleased.
Her full cheeks, pursed lips, and eyes alight with something akin to satisfaction nearly undid me. I wanted to see a more potent version of that expression: utterly satisfied—and all mine.
I swallowed, trying to remember what we were discussing. "If you weren't a teacher, what would you wear?"
"Hot pink, wild patterns, and sequins," she said, grinning. "I like it sparkly. I can't help who I am."
Neither could I. Her words reminded me of our differences, but I couldn’t ignore this opportunity to get to the heart of Sophie. She was so wildly different from me, it was fascinating to hear her perspective.
