Chapter 41
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
REBEL
A knock on my door sends my head shooting up from my computer and papers fluttering all over my thrift-store coffee table.
Gunner’s deep voice vibrates through solid wood and concrete. “Rebel?”
Anticipation and surprise whips my heart into a gallop. He’s early!
I throw my front door open. Gunner appears, wearing a simple white button down shirt and a pair of dark jeans. His hair hangs low, hiding his pale blue eyes and giving him a menacing air.
If I didn’t know what a softie he is under that intimidating stare and those broad-as-a-building shoulders, I’d probably slam the door and run to hide under my bed.
He greets me with a nod and lifts his arm to wave. It’s then that I hear plastic rustling and realize that he’s holding a grocery bag filled with giant leafy stems. In his other hand, he’s holding a case of my favorite pink lemonade.
“You’re early,” I say, pushing the door open wider and flattening my back against it so he can step inside.
Gunner’s so powerfully built that even though I give him plenty of space, his shoulder still brushes against me as he passes by.
“I’m right on time,” he says.
My eyes bulge. “Is it eight already?” I stampede to the couch where I set up my temporary ‘office’ and push aside folders, documents and my clipboard to locate my phone.
Once I press the button, the screen lights up and reveals the time in giant, neon-pink numbers.
“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe it’s eight already. I didn’t even notice.”
Gunner’s lips inch up ever so slightly and I can tell he doesn’t mind how scatterbrained I’m being about our date.
His gaze meanders slowly down my tank top, shorts and pink bunny slippers. A blush steals across my face. I originally planned on taking a shower, blowing out my hair and wearing something nice before Gunner arrived.
This is not how I planned to look on our first official date .
“Don’t watch me.” I pounce on him and set my hand over his eyes. “I need to get ready.”
Gunner grips my wrist and lowers my hand, shaking his head.
“I haven’t showered since I came back from the garage,” I argue. “I still smell like engine oil and exhaust. I’ll be quick.” I turn to walk away when I feel a tug on my wrist—which is still in Gunner’s grip.
He yanks me back to him using only a smidge of his strength and I go stumbling into his chest.
Gunner steadies my chin beneath his giant hands.
I catch a whiff of his light cologne mixed with the fragrance of fresh mint. De-licious. I want to bottle up his fragrance and sell it as a car freshener to all The Pink Garage customers. It would fly off the shelves.
Gunner presses closer to me, the warmth of him a magnetic pull that I can’t resist. Like spark to an ignition, I lean in too, gasping softly when he bypasses my lips and instead keeps going past my cheek to my neck.
I freeze, every nerve alight as he inhales deeply.
My heart stutters like a car with a bad starter.
“You smell... amazing,” he murmurs in that deep, gravelly voice.
My knees betray me, buckling wildly like I’m standing in the middle of an earthquake. His scent, his voice, his words—they’re intoxicating.
Out of sheer necessity, I dig my fingers into the collar of his shirt to keep myself steady.
Gunner steps back and taps my nose. “Keep working. I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.”
He retreats into the kitchen and I follow him in a daze. “W-what…” I clear my throat and do my best to hide the tremble in my voice, “you’re making dinner?”
He nods.
“Why?”
“Why not?” He opens a cupboard and then closes it.
It’s a fair argument. “What are you making? Spaghetti?” I try to peer into the bags.
“Risotto with fresh salmon and?—”
“You’re cooking salmon? ”
Gunner grunts the affirmative and continues hunting through my cupboard for pans.
“Since when do you know how to cook salmon? Actually, since when do you know how to cook period? ” I ask, reaching past him and finding the pan that he needs.
“My mother believes every man should know how to cook, clean and fold his own laundry.”
“Stop.” I lift a hand. “If you keep going, I’ll start fangirling over Carol and that’ll be uncomfortable for the both of us.”
He leaks a smile. Gunner doesn’t smile often and, even when he does, it’s just tiny smiles like this one, yet it makes his face ten times more appealing.
I want to stay and stare at his face, but I tear myself away from the kitchen and take a quick shower.
Since I don’t have time to blow-dry, I run a towel over my hair, throw on lip gloss and one of my favorite pink dresses and head back outside.
Gunner gives me a once-over and a corner of his lips inches up in a stamp of approval.
“See,” I call him out, breezing to the living room, “I look better now, don’t I?”
“You looked nice before too,” he assures me. “I liked the bunny slippers.”
I grin and sink into the couch, setting the laptop into my lap. “Did your Uncle Robert keep you busy today?”
Gunner grunts. “He uses my away games as an excuse to double my workload.”
“You could say no.”
“It’s fine. It works for us.”
Smiling, I grab my fuzzy pink pen.
For the next thirty minutes, Gunner quietly takes over my kitchen. Except for the sizzle of oil in the pan and the slight crackle of the salmon skin crisping, I wouldn’t even know he was there.
Part of his silence, I’m sure, is a by-product of his reserved nature, but I also get the sense that he’s intentionally being as quiet as he can to allow me to concentrate.
Unfortunately, it isn’t working at all.
Instead of calculating the estimates for our senior citizen outreach gift baskets, I keep getting distracted by Gunner’s bulging biceps.
Ugh. Does he have to sauté vegetables so sexily? Does he realize how charming he looks filleting a salmon? What if my smoke alarms go off from how hot he is stirring the rice?
I force my eyes back to the data I collected.
But those pesky orbs bounce back to the kitchen minutes later as if they’re dogs hopping back to their owner.
Gunner rolled the sleeve of his shirt up to his elbows and I get an eyeful of his impressive tattoos. They’re so intricate and well done. And manly. I love the way they add character to his otherwise stoic personality, as if hinting at the rebel underneath the mask of the perfect Kinsey prince.
“It’s almost ready,” Gunner says, misinterpreting my frequent looks in his direction.
I give up on work and wander back to the kitchen. “On a scale of one to ten, how clingy can I be in this relationship?”
Gunner arches a brow.
“Seeing you cook makes me want to hug you from behind.” I press my hands flat on the counter. “But this is just our first date and I’m not sure if you’re ready for Clingy Rebel.”
Gunner blinks slowly, looking pleased. A little shell-shocked too, but mostly pleased. “I don’t mind.”
“No.” I back off. “I change my mind. A woman should be a little mysterious or things will get boring fast. Would you like me to do the salad?” I point to the lettuce leaves near his elbow.
His gaze becomes unsteady as if he can’t keep up with the speed of my conversation.
I laugh as I peel the skin of the carrots. “Am I intimidating you, Gunner? You look scared.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Impressed?”
“At how easily you say what’s on your mind.”
“Some people would call that annoying.” His mom, being one of them, but I choose not to speak that part out loud.
“Not me.”
“Then maybe you’re the strange one,” I tease.
He grunts and shrugs as if to say ‘maybe’.
I finish my salad preparations and pull out a beautiful glass bowl from my bottom cupboard. Gunner stops to stare at it.
I answer the question in his eyes. “Do you remember the glass blowing exhibition the art committee hosted a few years back?”
He nods.
I rinse the bowl and then scrape my chopped lettuce, carrots and tomatoes into it. “The featured artist gifted me this after I took his class. It was so strange. He pulled me to the front of the class and I thought he was going to scold me for my awful glass blowing skills, but he gave me this instead. It had his number taped to the bottom of it, but obviously I threw that away.”
There’s no overt shift in Gunner’s expression. But I sense his energy tilting away from light and playful to guarded and uneasy.
However, in usual, Gunner fashion, he says nothing and sets the table with smooth, patient movements. I follow with the salad bowl, staring at his back and wondering what I said wrong. Should I not have mentioned another man during our date?
Gunner pulls out my chair for me, still quiet as ever. I notice he’s not looking me quite in the eyes.
“Gunner?”
He finally looks at me, seems to think about saying something and then snaps his mouth closed. I watch it all play out in real time and heaviness lands in my stomach, making me lose my appetite.
Whoa.
What is this new feeling?
I normally don’t let a man’s mood affect me or my voracious appetite, even if he is my boyfriend.
But tonight…
The thought that I might have upset Gunner makes me slightly panicked.
Which means…
I like Gunner Kinsey, way, waay more than I thought.