Page 50 of Kiss the Girl
“It’s not like it changes a single thing about how we act around each other,right, Noah?”
“Well…”
“Noah…”
“Her nephew is on the team. DeShawn. I think he’s a spy.”
I waited, my lips pressed tight, knowing what was coming next. I would not make this easy for him.
“He’ll be coming today, in fact. So.”
I stayed silent and glared.
He cleared his throat. “So I was thinking maybe we could put on a show—a little one—when the team gets here.”
Of course I would help Noah. I wasn’t heartless. But I would make him pay. Right now. Big time. “Define little.”
“Maybe, uh, flirting?”
“How do you imagine this flirting going?” It was fascinating to see Noah look awkward. He wasn’t a cocky guy, but he always acted so comfortable in his own skin, so self-assured, that it was highly entertaining to watch him fumble.
“I’m thinking, like, touching?”
“Interesting. Where?”
His eyes narrowed. He was onto me. “I figured we could do the old, ‘Oops, our fingers touched,’ like this.” He reached out to take the hammer from me, but his hand lingered over mine before slipping the hammer from my suddenly weak grasp.
I gave him a doubtful glance, which drifted down to his broad chest in spite of myself. I pulled my eyes back to his. “I don’t know. That feels too subtle. We’re dealing with high school boys here.”
“You have other ideas?” he asked, a distinct challenge in his tone.
“Definitely. If we’re going to fake date, I don’t want people thinking you’re not that into me. At a minimum, you need to be into my personal space.” I patted the table beside me. He scooted over a couple of inches, looking wary. I shook my head and patted again. We did this a couple more times until only a few inches separated us, way closer than casual friends would ever sit. “You see how this sends a message without saying a word?”
He was close enough for me to see the twitch of his pulse in his throat. I swallowed hard.
“I’m getting it now,” he said. “For example, if I wanted to borrow your measuring tape, I wouldn’t ask for it. I’d reach out and take it.”
“Right.” My own pulse sped up. The measuring tape was hooked above my hip.
“Like this.” He stood, hauled me to my feet, and looped his fingers into the front pockets of my tool belt. He pulled me until my hips were flush with his thighs. “Grace,” he asked softly, “can I borrow the tape measure?”
“Sure.” I barely had the breath to say it.
He slid it from my toolbelt and moved it to his jeans. “I can see how that’s more convincing. Thanks for the tips. Now we better practice your moves.”
“My moves?”
“I’m assuming you have some?” His voice was way too innocent.
“A few,” I said, resting my hands on his arms then slowly sliding them up to his shoulders—the shoulders I’d admired from the first night I met him. “For example, as your friend, I might tell you that you have a piece of lint on your shirt. But if we were dating, I’d probably brush it off for you.” I ran my hands across his shoulders, in slow, smooth brushstrokes. “You know, to help you out, like a good girlfriend.”
“Very helpful,” he murmured. “Did you get it?”
“Probably. Your turn. Unless we’re limiting ourselves to borrowing tools all morning when the boys get here.”
“The boys. Right.” But he said it as if he weren’t registering the idea of the team coming at all, and a small thrill of power ran through me. I’d distracted him with a simple touch.
And yet, it only underlined that I’d been right from the start about not getting involved with him. This kind of chemistry could easily ignite. I started to step away from him, but his hands tightened around my hips.
