Chapter 18 #2
In the end, it only took an hour to recreate the pattern, and this time, everyone chipped in, including the crew and the interns and the shop manager, and by the end, we were all laughing and joking.
I made sure to take many photos this time, and we marked the back of the tiles and loaded them onto the van.
All that hard work safely with us, the good mood continued as we lined up for the van ride home.
Tim and I waited while the rest of them piled in with their equipment and got settled.
We always offered to help, but they wanted to handle their own equipment.
I filed up the aisle and scooted into the back seat next to the window.
Tim had no choice. There was only one seat left, and it was next to me.
But both of us were loose from laughing and joking, and I slapped his arm and teased him about what a wimp he was.
Beyond all the joking, it was intoxicating to be so close to him—and yet familiar.
When we were kids, we would laugh this much and give each other this much shit without it turning mean and bitter like it had done in recent months.
Everyone was in high spirits as we made the half hour drive back to Mum and Dad’s place.
On the way, he kept glancing at me.
“What?” I creased my brow. “What are you staring at?”
He rubbed a finger along his bottom lip. “You.”
“Why?”
He kept sliding his finger along his lip thoughtfully, which made me focus on his mouth.
We’d kissed, but just that one time seven years ago now.
But I remembered every second of it, the pressure, the groan in the back of his throat, his hands raking through my hair.
I shook myself out of my reverie. “Just thinking how tenacious you are when you decide you want something.”
I squinted one eye at him, half expecting an insult. “Are you saying I’m stubborn?”
“No, I’m saying it’s very—” his lips twitched in a slow, quite sexy smile “—very compelling.”
I internally shivered, then I considered leaning in closer, thought about saying something flirty like, “Sooo, what are you compelled to do?” But that wasn’t me, and instead, I shot up my eyebrows, not wanting to make anything of it.
“Strap in,” I said in a dramatic voice. “It’s going to be quite the ride. ”
We pulled up to the house.
“Actually, we’re getting out,” Tim said. He made a gotcha face like he’d called me on my bad comic timing. “You’ve had far too many good lines for one day, young lady. Tomorrow belongs to me.”
“Hey, why don’t we ask everyone in for a drink?” I asked. Shoot. I didn’t know why I’d said we like we were joint hosts or something.
“Sounds great. Maybe keep yours to just the five pints.” He elbowed me in the ribs.
Twin spots of embarrassment heated my cheeks, followed by a surge of happiness that he was joking around this time, like I’d have preferred at that awkward first breakfast together. We were making progress.
We stayed in our seats, allowing the others to get out first with all their equipment.
He touched my arm. “Hey, could you send me your photos of the tiles, just so I have them too?” he asked.
I got out my phone and sent them. His phone buzzed and he pulled it from the front pocket of his shirt, and I leaned over to make sure he got them.
My arm brushed his forearms, both veined with strength and one covered in tattoos.
My bare leg against his trousers, the feel of his powerful thighs, was intoxicating, and my skin went on high alert at the hardness of his body.
My long hair fell down his open shirt. I breathed him in, and he smelled musky and slightly salty from a day of hard, physical work.
His hand holding the phone jerked away slightly, but not before I’d seen how he’d put me in his contacts.
“You have me as Tabitha Millicent Amanda Motherfucking Balfour?” I asked.
He grinned unapologetically. “It’s a compliment. You’re a bloody legend, Balfour.”
A legend. Wow. And the way he said it made it seem kind of edgy and sexy and badass. I wondered if that was just my interpretation or whether he really thought of me that way.
I realized I was still leaning into him. Remembering my drunken leap that first night, I pushed back into my seat.
“Show me my contact in your phone.” His mouth buzzed hot into my ear.
The feel of his warm breath and the thought of his mouth so near sent a slow ache low into my belly.
I loved kissing, and so had Perry…initially.
Now that I thought about it, when had we last kissed?
Sure, there had been the peck on the lips before we went to bed, but real snogging?
Passionate lip-locking? I missed kissing. But you’re not going to be kissing Tim.
Shaking myself internally, I tapped into my phone, pulled up his contact, and showed it to him.
“Tim bloody Langston,” he read. “Nah. That’s kind of like I’m annoying. I’m better at contacts than you.”
“If the bloody annoying cap fits, then…” I had nothing else.
He spluttered. Another of my dorky retorts. Releasing a funny little noise, I leaned toward him and kicked his boot with mine.
He went quiet and held my eyes. “Hey. Am I allowed to say I like your outfit?”
“Yes, you may.”
He growled. “That bow.”
“What do you like about it?” I looked down at the pink floral loop on my chest.
“Mm, not certain.” He narrowed his eyes to concentrate. “Might need to inspect it closer?”
“You want to be close to my bow?” What made me say things like that when he was around?
“Yeah, something like that.” His gravelly voice dipped even lower, and he reached out. “Okay?”
I nodded.
He fastened his fingers around one of the ties and pulled on it gently, finger over finger, reeling me in, bringing my face closer and closer to his, holding my gaze the whole time, his eyes burning into me.
His eyes dipped to my mouth, and my breath went short and shallow.
My face was almost touching his. I bit my bottom lip. Hard.
His phone buzzed in his other hand, and unbelievably, he turned to check it.
I couldn’t help but see the texter—Macy.
Macy
Need you at home.
Who was Macy? That was all I saw before he quickly dropped my tie and pulled back. I didn’t see the rest of the message, because he thrust his phone back into his pocket.
Why did he suddenly seem so stressed? So…anxious to leave.
“Actually, can’t do drinks. Sorry,” he said. “Something’s come up. Gotta race.”
It was a woman. Clearly, he had a better offer.