Page 9 of Falling for Keeps

“Ouch.”

“It’s not you.”

I cross my arms over my chest, which pushes my forearms into his bare chest because there’s still no room in here. I quickly put them on my hips instead. “Don’t finish that sentence with ‘it’s me’. We both know better.”

His hand drops to his side. “Saturday night, that behavior? That’s not me. I don’t do that. I’m Penny’s sole parent right now and she’s my priority. I really don’t do that.”

“Neither do I.” Well, not counting Seth and the librarian conference. That turned into a short relationship, so it doesn’t count.

Karaoke and me are a dangerous mix.

He lifts one eyebrow, which only has the effect of pouring heat into my cheeks. My face is so hot, I’m sure my skin is blending into my hair.

“How long are you here for?” I ask.

“The foreseeable future.”

“That’s fine,” I tell us both. “It’s the 2020s. We can be neighbors and nothing else. I’m not going to start leaving notes on your car or watch out the window to see when you come outside, so I can be sure to get the mail at the same time.”

“Those are oddly specific.”

“I read a lot of romance nov—you know what? That’s unimportant.”

“Maybe you should promise not to walk into my house without knocking.”

“I knocked!” I whisper-yell.

“Too softly, apparently.”

“Focus, Carson. Neither of us wanted anything more than what we had at that bar, right? We’ve established I’m not a stalker, and this is a total coincidence.”

“Yes.”

“Then I need to go to work.” I reach for the doorknob when he stops me, gripping my hand and looking into my eyes. The green in his irises is just as pretty as last night, and I can’t keep my traitorous brain from wondering if the bar and the mood and all of that was to blame for the chemistry I felt with him, or if we could recreate it right now in this pantry. His shirtless situation is a bonus.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“What?”

“Think about kissing me.”

My face burns hotter. “I wasn’t.”

Carson smirks. “You were. I can tell.”

“How? You can read minds now?”

“No, who said…? That’s random. I’m not giving my methods away.”

I want to turn the handle and get out of here, because the smell of his deodorant or shampoo is overpowering the small room and I’m afraid of what else he’ll be able to pick up on. But he’s holding my hand, and the feeling of large, warm fingers over mine is so hard to walk away from.

I’m a grown woman in the most uncomfortable moment. Retaining my dignity is of the utmost importance. It doesn’t mean anything that last time I saw him, he held me against the wall and kissed me until my legs were Jell-O.

“Truce?” he asks.

“Sure.” My quiet whisper still squeaks. “But that means you have to let me open the door.”

Carson pulls back his hand like I’m made of fire, like he didn’t even remember he was the one stopping me from leaving.