Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Renthrow
When it comes to Cordelia Davenport, I keep doing things I shouldn’t. Add hugging her to death in broad daylight to the laundry list of infractions.
I cut the shower and run my hands through my wet hair, sighing. When I’m around the woman, I can’t seem to act normal.
Absently, I reach out to grab a towel from the rack and realize that it’s empty. I was in such a hurry to get away that I must have forgotten to snag one.
Thankfully, I notice a hand towel by the sink. I use that to dry up as much of myself as I can and then dress in a T-shirt and jeans.
The moment I pull on the T-shirt, I regret it. I didn’t do a great job of drying my upper half as I did my lower. The T-shirt immediately sticks to my skin and feels like I traded a sweaty jersey for an equally sweaty shirt.
Pulling the shirt away from my chest to keep it from absorbing any more moisture, I head to my bedroom.
Voices drift from downstairs. Gordie’s is the loudest, as expected. She’s gushing about the meteor shower that’s slated to hit in the next month or so.
She wants to go camping, so we can be close to the stars, but I’m hesitant to take her that far from civilization. The signal out in the hills is terrible, and I hate the idea of being stranded out there without the ability to call her therapist in case she has an episode.
I close my bedroom door behind me and whip off my shirt. What should I wear to the arcade now?
I think of Cordelia, her pretty brown eyes, soft lips, and slim frame in my gray sweatshirt. Should I wear something similar? I have more than one of those sweatshirts.
Opening my closet, I reach for a sweatshirt tucked in the back when the shirt sleeves suddenly start slapping me in the face.
The heck?
“Ah!” I bellow.
“Aaah!” The arm sleeves scream back as they continue smacking me.
I grab those windmilling hands and tug. To my surprise, Cordelia falls out of the closet.
I blink, hardly believing my eyes. Am I dreaming right now? Did I slip in the shower and pass out?
“Cordelia? What are you doing in here?”
She peeks at my chest and averts her gaze, blushing hard. “Your mom sent me to get a jacket for Gordie.”
“This isn’t Gordie’s room,” I inform her, my fingers tightening around her wrists.
“I figured. The lack of Hello Kitty paraphernalia clued me in.”
Despite her sass, I can tell she’s nervous. The pad of my thumb is right above her pulse point, and her pulse is hammering faster than a jackhammer.
“What were you doing in the closet?”
“I was about to leave, but you walked in and started stripping, so I panicked.”
I stare at her beautiful face, note the blush spreading across her cheeks, and I can’t help it.
I laugh.
She blows a frustrated breath. “This isn’t funny, Viking.”
“It’s a little funny.”
Her mouth trembles, and she looks away to hide her smile, but I can see the way her lips arch up. I want to trace her little smile lines with my finger. I want to kiss both of those rosy cheeks. Take my time tasting those full, pink lips.
Reel it back in, Renthrow.
Water trickles from my ear and plops against her hand, drawing her attention back to me. Her eyes widen slightly when she looks up at my face, and I tighten my jaw.
Is it obvious? How attracted I am to her? How much she’s messing with my head?
I’m hungry. To touch her. To taste her. To stand close to her and breathe her in.
Move back. Give her room.
There’s no reason for me to be here, pinning her against the side of my wardrobe. Yet, the electricity heating the air between us makes me reluctant to back away.
I can tell she feels it too. I didn’t think it was possible, but her pulse is sprinting faster now.
You’re in dangerous territory, Renthrow.
My gaze darts to her mouth, and my voice scrapes my throat as I whisper, “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“You’re the one keeping me here,” she says breathily.
I look at where my fingers are wrapped around her wrist. “Seems so.” My eyes find hers. “Do you want me to let go?”
She chews on her bottom lip. Those Bambi-brown eyes meet mine with a mixture of yearning and hesitation. “It would be better if you did.”
I shackle her hands above her head, my voice lowered to a husk. “Probably.”
“Probably.”
I inch forward. “I need more than that.”
She licks her lips, and a whirlpool of heat roars to life inside me. Not even the water plopping from my wet hair can cool me down.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She tilts her chin up as her nostrils flare.
I adjust my grip on her wrists so only one hand is keeping her hands above her head. Then I place my free hand on the wardrobe door, caging her in as I lean down slightly.
“Be clear,” I demand.
Her eyes, darkening by the second, flit to mine. “You’re the one who told me you wouldn’t let go.”
Memories of stopping her bike earlier fill my mind.
Cordelia inhales deeply through her nose. “Don’t.”
I take that as permission and move toward her lips.
Her head tilts up in anticipation. Her heavy breaths mingle with my own.
Closer.
Closer still.
We inch toward each other and toward that line of no return.
My nose brushes against hers.
Her lips part for me.
The door bursts open, and Gordie shrieks, “Daddy! When are you coming down? We’re going to be late!”
I freeze in shock.
But Cordelia doesn’t suffer from the same immobility. She shoves me so hard, I stumble to the left. A moment later, I hear the thud of the closet doors shutting just as Gordie stomps into sight.
She slams her tiny hands against her hips and tilts her head to the side, letting her ponytails swing.
“Why don’t you have on a shirt, Daddy? We need to go.”
“Good things shouldn’t be rushed, pumpkin. Remember?” I walk to Gordie and pat her bum as I usher her out of the room. “Just wait a little longer.”
Gordie spins around and stares at me in a way that reminds me of Mom when I used to sneak out as a teenager.
“Daddy, why is your face so red? And why are you breathing so hard?”
I ignore both those questions because the answers are too damning. “Tell Grandma and Miss Potts to wait in the car. I’ll be right out.”
Thankfully, Gordie is easy to distract. “Okay. Can you tell Delia to come out too?”
“What?” I blanche.
“Grandma said Delia is having alone time in the bathroom, and I shouldn’t bother her right now. But we need to go now.”
Mom said that, huh? Seems like Cordelia might not have “accidentally” found my room. It’s more like she was directed there.
“Wait in the car, pumpkin. I’ll get Cordelia.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Gordie skips away.
I close the door with a click.
“You can come out now,” I announce, reaching for the shirt that I took to the bathroom with me. Thankfully, it’s now dry.
Cordelia crashes out of my closet, avoiding my gaze.
I smile at her self-conscious expression. “About earlier—”
“We don’t need to talk about it.” Cordelia fiddles with her shirt, and I can tell that she’s bracing for me to push the point.
It would be fair to, wouldn’t it?
We were going to kiss.
That, at least, warrants a conversation, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable—which she clearly is.
I step back. “Either way…you’re welcome.”
“What?” She looks up with fear in her eyes.
“You snuck into my room, but I didn’t rat you out to Gordie.”
The tension leaves her shoulders, and her eyes widen. “I didn’t sneak in!”
“You sure?” I slip into my shirt and pull it down over my stomach, noticing the way her eyes linger on my abs. “You looked extremely guilty when I caught you. Like you were looking at something you shouldn’t be.”
The color is high on her cheeks, but her eyes glint with the fierceness I know so well. “Honestly”—she stares pointedly at my stomach—“I was a little disappointed.”
I narrow my gaze. “Disappointed?”
“I thought you’d have a dad bod.”
Her words register, and I bark out a laugh.
She grins at me.
“I’ll try my hardest to get one if that’s what you like.”
The moment the words leave my lips, I immediately want to face-palm. What kind of flirting is this? The kids on the team would say I have “no rizz.” Which isn’t surprising. I haven’t flirted with a woman since my divorce, and it shows.
Thankfully, Cordelia isn’t running and screaming for the hills. I watch a smile stretch on her mouth.
But it fades too quickly, and she gets awkward again. “Gordie will start worrying if I don’t head out now.”
I open the door and gesture for her to walk ahead of me.
Eyes wide, Cordelia slams the door shut. “Are you crazy?” she hisses. “We can’t go out there at the same time.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Her voice trembles with uncertainty. “Because we can’t. It’ll give the wrong impression.”
“To who?” I fold my arms over my chest.
“To people you’re better suited for,” she mumbles.
Those words send my eyebrows skyrocketing. “What is that supposed to—”
She jerks the door open, cutting me off. “I’ll go out first. Wait at least a couple minutes until you leave too.”
Just like that, she slips out of the room. I stare at the wall and run a rough hand through my hair, gritting my teeth as I sort through my thoughts.
I was mostly unbothered when my teammates were teasing me about Miss Potts. So why does it annoy me so much now that Cordelia thinks I’m interested in Gordie’s teacher too?
Why do I want to drag her back into my room and kiss her until that ridiculous suspicion is banished from her head?
I’ve known for a while that I find Cordelia attractive and intriguing. Whenever she walks into the room, my attention always seems to find her. From the moment she looped her hand around mine in the stadium, she left an impression that I just couldn’t shake.
At first, I thought I kept thinking about her because of the guilt I felt for shrugging her off. Then I figured I felt such a strong connection with her because she has a close bond with my daughter.
But after today, I don’t think I can hide behind those excuses anymore.
There’s something about Cordelia Davenport that calls to me. She awakens parts of me I thought were dead. I’ve done my best to squash it. Ignore it. Rationalize it. And pretend that it’s something else.
And now, I’ve reached the tipping point of every objection.
In accounting, balancing the books comes with a rigorous set of systems and processes. If the accounts are off by a mere cent, it all has to be re-counted.
Numbers don’t lie.
And the numbers in my heart add up to only one thing.
I have feelings for Cordelia Davenport.
Now, what am I going to do about that?