Page 13 of Nothing At All

“I’ve been reading, though.” He turned his head, a sudden, sharp movement, so I stared into fierce navy eyes fringed by dark lashes. “Since I met you. I want to be good . . . to be better for you.”

I melted, then shifted sideways to face him better. “I love that.”

His shoulders rolled in an irritable shrug. “Makes me feel stupid. Like I should know this already.”

“You are one of the smartest people I know. And it makes me feel incredibly special that you’re researching because you want to please me.” Leaning in, I slid my palm up his leg, stopping mid-thigh. Muscles bunched under my touch, and his pulse jumped beneath his jaw. I dropped my gaze to his lips. “We could practice together. You know, finesse your technique.”

He’d lunged to wrap an arm around me, face buried in my neck, and I did laugh then, joy burbling up in me because he was earnest and wonderful and why hadn’t some local girl already snatched him up? We’d missed the rest of the movie, practicing on my couch, and I’d never had so much fun teaching someone something in my life.

He was an ace pupil.

My phone vibrated against my palm. Lydia and EmmaLee on their way. I’m cooking if you want to come over

I could hear the hesitancy in the invitation. He’d read somewhere how couples needed healthy space and didn’t want to come off clingy, although I wanted to be where he was all the time, buzzing about him like a bee.

I’d love that. What can I bring?

Just you

A wide smile hurt my cheeks, all my uncertainty fleeing. I’d talk with him about Nicole and everything would be fine.

Finally, I checked out and ran home to stash my purchases and swap my work clothes for jeans and a simple white tee under my favorite dark blue sweater. The drive from my home to his took only a few minutes.

His mother’s neat ranch home was one of the larger ones on the street, with a small separate apartment connected to the garage. Dan had claimed the space after graduating from UGA, letting him be around to help his mama while still having a modicum of privacy.

An older Honda sat under Nicole’s carport. I hadn’t looked Saturday night when we’d picked her up, but why was it parked here if it needed repairs?

I pressed my lips together.

That heifer.

I parked behind Dan’s truck, his patrol car to one side, leaving room for Lydia and EmmaLee and for his mama to be able to get in the garage once she returned home. She was a regional HR manager for a local chain of convenience stores, and sometimes her days ran late.

Sliding out of my SUV, I headed for the stairs to Dan’s, but he flung open the door before I got there. Grinning, he jogged down the steps to meet me. Faded jeans clung to his thighs, and a gray t-shirt hugged his chest and shoulders.

He flashed a grin. “Hey, baby.”

“Hi.” His authentic eagerness and happiness to see me centered me further. You couldn’t fake that. I stepped into him, his hands cupping my jaw to pull me into his kiss. Soap and sport deodorant filled my nose, my fingers brushing his damp hair, fresh from an end-of-shift shower.

“Missed you.” He nuzzled the end of his nose against mine. “Thought about you all day.”

I wrinkled my nose, pulling back slightly to meet his eyes. “Even at lunch?”

A disgusted sound rumbled in his throat, and he scowled before sending me up the stairs before him, his hands at my hips. “That was weird as fuck.”

Inside the door, I dropped my key fob on the Crisp County Power Plant commemorative plate that already held his. “What do you mean?”

With an irritable shrug, he strode to the kitchen that took up the back wall, an island separating the kitchen from the small living area. At the island, he picked up his knife and attacked a bunch of celery. My gaze lingered on the flex of muscles in his forearm.

He shook his head. “She got upset when I said we weren’t friends.”

“Upset.”

“Yeah.” He dumped the leafy ends of the celery in a large bowl. “Teared up and everything.”

“You said that? Told her you weren’t friends?”

“Well, yeah. We’re not. She’s just . . .” He waved his knife toward the window. I glanced that way. His windows offered a view into her backyard and the rear windows on her small ranch. “I don’t know, Nicole who lives next door. She’s not Chuck or Josh or EmmaLee.”