Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
My pulse kicks up.
The air between us heavier than it was moments ago. He is still dripping—water sliding down the length of his arm, across the line of his shoulder, tracing over the muscles in the most distracting way.
“You know something, Lucy?” Harris drawls, voice smooth as sin. “There’s nothing I’d rather be doing than showing you all the things I’m good at that have nothing to do with wood.”
He grins.
I roll my eyes. “Wow. You’re so subtle.”
I won’t pretend it’s easy to think standing in front of this stupidly hot, frustratingly cocky man with his golden retriever confidence, his rough hands, his broad chest, and that damn smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Heat crawls up my neck. But still, I step closer to him, tipping my head enough to look into his pretty eyes with the long lashes. “You talk a big game, Harris. Hope your skills live up to the sales pitch.”
Wally snorts. Bill coughs into his elbow, barely concealing his laughter. Even Annabelle—who has rejoined us—presses her fingers to her temple, her secondhand embarrassment for me palpable.
“Stop looking at me like that!” I snap, though the words lose their bite.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know!”
“You’re so fun to mess with,” he adds, voice low and teasing. “But I’ll save some teasing for later.”
My stomach flips. “Later?” I repeat, half horrified, half tingling all over.
His smirk deepens. “We have days and days to dance around this.”
“Days to dance around what?” I hear myself whisper, suddenly hyperaware of how close we still are.
Harris leans in. My brain goes into a tailspin. “To do whatever it is you want. With me.”
Oh.
Oh Jesus.
My throat goes dry. My thoughts go everywhere.
“Like what?” I ask, and I hate how breathy my voice sounds.
His smirk widens, his gaze flickering over my face like he’s memorizing every little reaction. “You’ll figure it out.”
I don’t even get the chance to ask, because Harris chooses that moment to turn on the heel of his boot and walk away—leaving me standing there, absolutely ruined by a conversation I can’t fully compute. Brain dumb.
Later that afternoon, as Annabelle and I gossip about him at Loon Landing Café, she leans across the table, transfixed.
“Days and days to do whatever you want?” She scoffs. “Told you to your face you could do anything?” She leans back against the chair. “Damn. That guy is so freaking hot.”
I stab at my iced coffee with a straw, watching the ice spin. “I can’t believe anyone would say that to my face. I was shook.”
Annabelle gives me the most exasperated look I’ve ever seen. “Lucy, the man handed you an opportunity, and you fumbled it.”
I groan again, avoiding her searing gaze. “I didn’t fumble it—I strategically avoided a potential disaster.”
She throws her hands up. “What disaster? A ridiculously hot guy flirting with you?”
“Yes!” I point at her like she’s proving my own point. “Yes. Exactly that. Thank you for understanding.”
Annabelle stares at me blankly. “That is not a disaster. That is a dream scenario.”
I scowl, dropping my hand. “It’s a trap, Annabelle.”
Her eyes narrow. “Lucy, it’s a shirtless, wet, gorgeous man flirting with you. Where is the downside?”
I groan, slumping forward onto the table. “It’s a defense mechanism, okay? I can’t help getting defensive with men.”
Annabelle tilts her head, arms crossing. “Defensive? Or terrified?”
“I’m not terrified.” I lift my head to glare at her. “He takes up way too much space. Physically, emotionally—whatever other -ly you can think of. He’s like . . .” I wave a hand in the air, searching for the right word. “A golden retriever that hit the gym too hard.”
Annabelle snorts. “A damn good-looking golden retriever.”
“Not the point,” I grumble, glaring at my coffee mug.
My best friend regards me, swirling her drink thoughtfully. “So what’s the real issue here, Lucy?”
I blink at her. “The real issue?”
“Yeah.” She gives me a look like she can see straight through my nonsense. “You’re flustered because he’s hot? Or because he got under your skin?”
“Neither,” I snap, a little too quickly.
Annabelle’s smirk widens. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
“It’s true!” I insist, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck. “He’s obnoxious. Completely full of himself. And—and he thinks he can get whatever he wants with a grin and a wink.”
“Can’t he?”
I freeze, my brain short-circuiting at the memory of Harris standing too close, grinning that stupid grin, and the way my heart did something absolutely traitorous in response.
Annabelle knows exactly where my mind goes. “Oh my God. He can.”
“He cannot!” I snap at her.
She bursts into laughter, way too pleased with herself. “Lucy, I love you—but you’re such a liar. In fact, I’m going to do you a favor here and send him your number.”
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
“Why not? You’re too stubborn about this. We both know you didn’t show up at the marina to see me—you barely saw me standing there.”