Page 77 of Buckin' Around

“. . . encer?”

“Hey, what?” I haul in a breath, my lungs stretching, my jeans bulging with my wayward thoughts.

“Remote, Spence,” she breathes, her thumb swiping leftover sauce between her lips as she tucks her legs underneath her body.

Clearing my throat, my parched fucking throat, I grab for the remote on the small side table at my end of the sofa. My fingers fumble it, and it falls from my grip, hitting the floor.

“Fuck, sorry,” I mutter as I dive for it.

Riley bends down at the same time.

Her forehead smacks into my temple.

“Ah, shite.” She rises, rubbing her head. “You okay?”

With a chuckle, I swipe up the remote and toss it to the sofa between us. “Yeah, give me a look.”

I lean in—to assess damage, of course, not to kiss the hell out of this woman I’ve been trying so damn hard not to think about this way.

Apparently, losing almost everything has me entertaining things I would have snuffed out even a few short weeks ago.

“I’m fine.” She drops her hand, plucking up the remote and pointing it at the oversized flat-screen. “Thriller or comedy? I don’t think anything else would suit.”

When I glance at her, she’s so still. Waiting.

Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth.

Oh fuck, O’Malley.

The V-neck T-shirt she’s wearing deep dives between her cleavage. She fidgets with her hair as I take her in, pulling it around her neck only to lose it over her chest. The scent of apples from her shampoo hits me.

My body tenses to something primal, something overwhelming.

She’s fucking stunning.

In a T-shirt and jeans.

With takeout. On the sofa.

With a clean face and a fiery stare that is now intensifying under lowering brows.

I clear my throat for the second time in ten minutes. “Yeah, comedy would be great. After today, I could use a laugh.”

Among other things . . .

I rise, needing to get someplace not in her orbit.

“Drink?” I manage to rasp.

“Sure. Juice, please.” Leaning her head back, her gaze follows me as I leave the living room space and head for the refrigerator.

I stand in front of the cool wash of air from the open refrigerator longer than necessary before plucking out Riley’s juice and a bottle of water for me.

Sinking on the sofa, a little further away from Riley this time, I hand her the juice. “Last one, Riles.”

“Thanks. I’ll pick up some more over the weekend. Where are you and Brady off to tomorrow?”

Geez, that’s right, tomorrow’s Friday.