Chapter Twelve Summer #3
“You should sleep more.”
“Tell that to my hip.”
I stop myself before I can frown, instead shoveling more pizza into my mouth.
Ezra polishes off two more slices, and I finish another myself before declaring that I’m done.
“Thank you. For sharing your pizza, I mean,” I say as I hop off the stool, taking my plate to the sink.
“What are you doing?” Ezra asks, and I jump.
I had no idea he was so close. And by close I mean take-a-step-back-and-be-pressed-up-against-him kind of close.
“Uh, the dishes.”
“No,” he says, reaching over me and grabbing the plate from my hand.
“Ezra, stop. Just let me wash it.”
“Not a chance, Sunny. You’ve been on your feet all day. Go sit down.”
I want to argue, because that’s my natural reaction when it comes to him, but suddenly my feet are aching, and I’m realizing just how long of a day it really has been.
“Fine,” I mutter, then resume my spot at the counter, but not before snatching up the plans for the kitchen.
I sip on my cider as I look it over again. I was hoping it was just the bad lighting in the car, but my first impression was right—this isn’t going to work.
“Well?” Ezra asks, and I look up to find him still standing at the sink, his back now to the faucet, a towel in his hands as he dries them off.
His hair is dry now, lying messily on his head like he’s been running his hand through it, and there’s a wet spot on his shirt, causing it to cling to him.
I hate how good he looks like this. So relaxed. So unbothered. He’s not even scowling like he usually is. He looks . . . at ease, and it’s doing wonders for him.
“See something you like, Sunny?”
I snap my gaze from that damn wet spot to his eyes.
“Excuse me?”
He nods toward the plans sitting in front of me. “The layout. Do you see something you like?”
“Oh.” I give myself a mental shake, frustrated that I let him get inside my head again. “Uh, no. Actually. This sucks.”
Just like that, his scowl is back. “Jeez, tell me how you really feel.”
“I feel like you could do better.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it just you who gets to be the asshole?”
His eyes narrow, but only for a moment before he exhales heavily and nods. “That’s fair.” He carefully slips the towel back around the handle on the stove, then pushes off the counter and stalks closer until he’s standing right next to me. “Listen, Summer, I—”
I hold my hand up. “Stop. I don’t want to hear your excuse.”
His brows furrow. “Excuse? What excuse?”
“Whatever bullshit you’re about to feed me about why you were a dick the other night with Warner. I don’t want to hear it. Let’s just go over these kitchen plans and keep it strictly business.”
His nostrils flare, his eyes darkening, jaw setting tight as he takes another step closer. I should move. Hell, I should run away.
I don’t.
Not even when Ezra leans in closer and says, “What if I don’t want it to be strictly business?”
A steady whoosh fills my ears as my heart rate climbs.
I draw in a deep breath, and I know right away it was a mistake.
Rain showers. Fresh evergreens. Soap. Ezra.
I exhale shakily. “Well, that’s too bad because that’s what it is.”
“Is it? Was it strictly business when you kissed me?”
Heat climbs up my cheeks at the memory of him pulling away from me. I’ve tried so hard to forget it, but it’s impossible, especially when I swear I keep seeing him looking at me like he did just before our lips touched.
Like he is now.
I drop my gaze back to the plans, but they just look like a jumbled mess. I can’t focus, and it’s all Ezra’s fault. He’s standing too close.
“I thought we decided we were going to forget that ever happened,” I say to the paper.
“No, that’s what you decided. I remember distinctly saying that I didn’t want to forget.”
I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. Just so we’re clear.
“Was it distinct? Because ever since then, you’ve been avoiding me.”
“I’ve been working.”
“Avoiding.” I dare a peek at him. “And torturing your employees.”
“Working,” he insists. “And disciplining them when they need it. When they’re being . . . insubordinate.”
“We were just talking.”
His jaw tics. “You were flirting. On the clock, mind you.”
I tip my chin higher, meeting his heated stare head-on. “So what if we were? What’s the big deal, huh? Warner’s a nice guy. He’s funny and he’s sweet and cute.”
He is objectively good looking, but he does nothing for me. Ezra doesn’t need to know that, of course, especially not when it’s so obvious it riles him up. His eyes are practically black, his breaths coming in sharply, so I keep going.
“So who cares if I flirt with him? Or if I date him? Who cares if—”
“I do!” He takes another step closer, so damn close that he’s mere inches away, and I can see the freckles that line up just over the bridge of his nose. “I fucking care, Summer.”
“Why?” The words aren’t nearly as sharp as I intend them to be, and it has everything to do with our proximity. “Why do you care so much, Ezra?”
One.
Two.
Three.
That’s how many seconds it takes for him to answer me.
“Because he’s not me.”
And then Ezra Rawlings is kissing me.