Chapter 13 Annika
This morning, I woke up to a fuzzy bed partner tucked under my covers like it was a totally normal thing, mid-dream if the twitching little paws were any indication. I’m proud to admit that I was only startled for a second and managed to swallow down my gasp just in time.
Hemingway seems to have a knack for getting into my apartment, but this is the first time he’s dared to sleep with me.
I’m not sure if I should be excited because he's obviously gotten comfortable enough to let himself be vulnerable around me, or if I should start raccoon-proofing my pantry because that open box of thin mints is starting to make a whole lot more sense now. He wasn’t thrilled when I had to wake him up and cart him out the door so I could head downstairs.
To be honest, I would’ve happily let him sleep in and we could’ve made a whole day of doing absolutely nothing and hiding away from the world together—at least until the town garbage cans became too tempting to resist.
But no. I had to convince myself that shirking one’s duties was immature and irresponsible.
That there was too much that needed to be done to play hooky.
Despite that, I’ve been in the store for hours now, yet I’ve been absolutely useless.
I’m pretty sure I’ve reorganized this section at least three times, but I couldn’t tell you a single title I’ve touched because my brain can’t focus on work.
No. It’s latched onto the conversation from last night, the words on constant repeat.
They want me to move in with them.
That’s just plain lunacy, right? Not only would the whole of Cedar Vale get the wrong impression, but my heart might too.
We have too much history and years between us now.
We’ve barely begun the process of working toward reestablishing our friendship.
Making any risky moves doesn’t seem like a good plan, and I’ve spent my entire life trying not to make bad ones.
Of course, Frederick was not exactly a shining moment for me, and the whole not questioning my brother’s story was another low point, I suppose.
But two out of hundreds can’t be that terrible.
It’s not like I have a criminal history or unpaid parking tickets.
No trail of jilted lovers or broken hearts in my past. In fact, outside of my brief time with the ex-hole, relationships were never a priority.
The tiny voice inside my head pipes up, shrewdly pointing out that that could be because in all the years since that single night with Owen, there’s never been another man who has lit me up from the inside, making me burn for their touch the way the three of them do with a single look.
My hand pauses, a book pushed halfway into an empty space.
“No. Nope. Stop that right now, Annika Reed. We will not have dirty daydreams in the middle of the store about boys who—”
“For the record, I’m pretty sure we haven’t been boys since the tenth grade when our pubes came in.”
I shriek, spinning around and sending the book flying out of my hand. “Cheese and rice, Cars! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
He’s leaning against the archway that separates this section of the store from the main lobby with a sexy smirk on his face.
He’s in a black tee and a pair of charcoal gray joggers, with damp hair peeking out from under his hat, and he looks so damn sexy that I fight the urge to clamp my thighs together to stop the pulsing ache that’s becoming an annoying problem.
“Sorry. I came straight from practice to help you rearrange the furniture for tonight’s tutoring session.
But…since I’m a little early…” He flips his hat backward, and for some dumbass reason, I find myself biting my bottom lip, imagining all the possibilities with that brim out of the way.
“We have time for you to tell me all about these dirty daydreams you’ve been having about us. ”
Heat rushes my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” Pushing off the wall, he closes the distance between us.
The entire time his eyes scan my face. When he stops just in front of me, his hand lifts, two thick fingers brushing a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
“Then explain to me why I can see the pulse pounding in your throat and a pretty pink blush spreading across your cheeks.”
“It’s…” My eyes ping around the room as I reach for any lame excuse I can get a hold of. Finally, I catch sight of one of my favorite books on the shelf beside me. “...just the book I was reading, is all. These romance novels really get the engine revving, if you know what I mean.”
“Seems you have a thing for fictional boyfriends, huh?”
“Fictional boyfriends…” Well, shit. I suppose he’s not wrong, but I’m not telling him that.
“It’s okay, books. I won’t tell the others that you’re really into us.” He drops his backpack onto the carpeted floor like he didn’t just throw my mind into a frenzy. “Now, let’s get this furniture moved before everyone shows up, then we can talk about other things.”
“Other things?” I sound like a damn broken record at this point, but I’m worried that if I open my mouth, a rushed mix of begging and humiliating nonsense will spew out.
“Mmmhmm. Like what’s going through that filthy little mind of yours. Now, chop chop. Where do we start?”
I could stand here and sputter like an offended lady, or I could ignore him and use his help to get shit done.
Choosing the latter and much less embarrassing option, I point to the seating area and quickly explain how I want to rearrange everything.
Working together, we move all of the available seats around the outer edge of the space, placing tables in front for books and drinks.
This makes it easier for partners to study and converse while giving Reagan a place to oversee everyone and remain available for questions or problems.
Scanning the new set-up, I realize how much we were able to accomplish in a short amount of time. It would’ve taken me all day on my own, not to mention the sore muscles and cramped back.
“Anything else you’d like to borrow my muscles for?”
Carson’s suddenly standing beside me, looking down at me with an expression that I’m not sure I want to decipher.
The man didn’t even break a sweat, and the fact that he looks absolutely sinful with his hands on his hips and his hair curling slightly around the bottom edge of his hat is bringing all of those unwanted feelings right back to the surface.
I need a distraction, stat!
“Actually, there’s a wobbly shelf I need to reinforce if you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand?”
“Not at all. I’m at your disposal. Lead the way.”
Heading toward the far back corner of the store, a few rows away from the front door and on the opposite side of the building, I use the short walk to get myself back under control.
I just got out of a relationship, just got back into town, and I’m not making any more life-altering decisions for a while.
A girl just needs a little peace. Is that too much to ask?
Walking up to a section of shelves, I step onto the stool that’s already there from my earlier attempt at being an independent woman. “This shelf needs a new peg in the wood right here, but I need someone to lift it up in order to get it in.”
“No problem, shorty. Let’s do this.”
I shoot him the side-eye as I pull the new metal peg from the pocket of my skirt. “I am not short.”
“Says the girl who’s only eye-level with me right now because she’s on that stool.”
That’s when I notice how close he is, the deep brown of his eyes staring straight into mine.
He smells like soap and a woodsy scent that settles in my belly, sparking a hunger like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
He leans closer, his hand settling on the upper shelf and pushing up slightly.
Our faces aren’t more than an inch apart.
All it would take is for me to lean in the slightest bit and press my lips to his.
“Gonna put that peg in, books, or just stare at me like I’m your favorite ice cream flavor and you want to lick me from bottom to top?”
A sound—part gasp, part mewl—pierces the silence that has fallen, my eyes going wide when I realize it came from me.
“Hold that thought, Nik.” With brisk efficiency, he removes the broken peg, takes the new one from my fingers, and slips it into the slot. When he turns back to me, all playfulness is gone. “Say no, and I back away and leave you alone.”
My lips part, but no words follow. It’s like my body is blocking any signal my brain is attempting to send. There’s only one basic command filtering through the static—kiss me.
“That’s what I thought.”
With absolutely zero hesitation, his lips touch mine, and the tiny spark that’s been burning since the moment I saw him again bursts into an inferno in my blood.
He kisses me like a starving man, one who can’t get enough and will consume me whole.
Maybe that should be the red flag here, but all I see is the white flag of surrender.
Warm hands slip around my waist, lifting me off the stool and pulling me into his chest. My fingertips skim up his muscled pecs and over his shoulders until I can play with the hair sticking out from under his hat.
There’s the clink of metal as the stool gets shoved aside.
The unforgiving wood shelves press uncomfortably against my back, but none of that really registers.
How could it when our tongues are battling each other and I’m so damn wet that I think I can feel it running down my inner thighs?
“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth.
Deft fingers slide down and start inching my long gauzy skirt up my legs until he’s able to grab behind my knee and force my legs around his slim waist. The bulge behind his sweats presses against the thin fabric of my panties, and my hips roll involuntarily.
The unexpected length of him pushes the lace against my clit, which has me really close to coming undone.
“Cars…”