8. Never Going to Happen
How cansomeone look so damn sexy? If I didn”t learn a long time ago that life isn”t fair, I would know it now. Holy hell, those forearms. The way the corded muscles bulge practically melts my underwear. And he”s just holding a shovel. Imagine what they would look like if they were doing something else. If they were—nope. I refuse to think about his forearms anymore. Or about those abs. Or how his hair is just starting to darken from his sweat. There”s not a part of him that doesn”t get me so hot I could start a wildfire.
”So, this is where you live?” I ask.
For a second, he looks like he wants to come closer to me, but then he stops. His right eyebrow raises. ”It is. Want a tour?”
I snort and look back at the house. ”That certainly explains a lot.” I suddenly forget all the cute little architectural details that call back to the older houses of the neighborhood, and all I can see is a house that looks like three boxes stacked crookedly on each other.
”What do you think you can tell about me from my house?” In the corner of my eye, I see him smirk.
I can tell he”s the kind of person who likes to show off. No wonder he”s working outside without a shirt on. He expects people to be impressed by his body and his house. That car parked in the garage probably costs more than I made in the last two years. And I can tell that he”s the type of man who likes to tease women. I don”t need that infuriatingly attractive smirk to tell me that.
”I need to get back,” I say. ”I”ll be sure to skip this area from now on when I jog or take a morning walk.”
His eyes glide down my body. The way he’s looking at me makes me feel naked. I want to hide, but I force myself to stand taller instead.
”Do you always go for a morning walk in your pajamas?” he asks.
”You”re awfully nosy for a guy who made it clear he has no interest in me.”
He winces and then swallows so loudly I hear it where I”m standing. Probably just because his mouth is so dry. ”I never said I wasn”t interested.” His forearm tenses, and please give me the strength to not rub against it like a cat marking her territory. ”I fucked up.”
”That”s being generous.”
He takes a step toward me, but when I step back to match it, he stops and runs a hand through his hair. Drops of sweat turn rainbows in the sun as they fall to the pavement below. ”I fucked up bad. But I—shit. Maybe I shouldn”t ask again, but go on a date with me. I mean it. I meant it last time too, but I”m not taking it back this time.”
Does he seriously think I”m a fool? ”Absolutely not.”
”You were going to say yes last time. I”ve thought a lot about it, and I know you were. What changed?”
He”s probably so stuck on himself he thinks any woman with a functioning nervous system could never turn him down. ”Never going to happen.”
Something that looks like guilt passes over his face, but it”s quickly replaced by resolve. ”Never say never.”
”Never.” I say it slowly so he”ll get the message, but he only smiles.
”At least tell me your name.”
I start walking away without saying a word.
”Not fair. You know mine. Since I keep seeing you in your pajamas, I”ll have to call you Pajama Girl if you don”t tell me.”
I shrug and keep walking. My back is still turned to him, but I know he hasn”t moved an inch. I feel him staring at me. ”That”s a stupid nickname, but call me what you want. It”s never going to happen, Brant.” I emphasize his name just to drive home the fact that I know it. I might not know his last name, but his first is all I need to make him squirm.