gorgeous? Especially now with his hat on backward and those ocean-blue eyes twinkling at me. Teeny-tiny wings flutter in my chest when he drops onto the bench beside me. He’s close. Superclose. Like his jeans touching mine close. Heat rolls off his body and I sort of crave to snuggle up to him and steal his warmth.
“West,” I respond. Good girl. Act casual.
I should move. At least an inch. Prove to us both that I have an inkling of self-respect. But I don’t. He’s warm and...well...dammit, he’s cute. I rub my hands together, half wondering if I should thank him for what happened at lunch or if I should punch him for getting involved or if I should press my fingers to his face and save myself from frostbite amputation. I seriously want to do all three.
“Would you like a lift?” he asks.
“You really don’t listen, do you?” I try to bend my fingers, but they’re so cold they’re swollen. “I told you Friday I don’t ride with strangers.”
“Well, you are my girlfriend.”
I choke on the laugh that bubbles up my throat. West smiles and I have to admit it’s a sweet sight on his face.
“You realize,” I say, “that after what happened at lunch we’re both undeniably screwed.”
“It was an interesting first day.” He stands and extends his hand. “Come on—let me drive you home.”
I accept the offer and I hate the way my insides palpitate when his fingers wrap around mine.
“Jesus, your hands are ice cubes.” West’s hand flinches away from mine, and, with red cheeks, I pull my hand back, but West denies my retreat and reclaims my fingers.
“Don’t. It’s okay.” I yank to free myself, but I’m unsuccessful. “I’m just cold.”
“No shit. Gloves could help.”
I don’t have gloves. If I did, I’d wear them, but I lost them when we lost the storage unit. Ticked off by the reminder, I start to inform West the exact route to hell he can take when he draws my hand toward his lips.
The world stills when he opens his mouth and blows hot air onto my skin. My eyes widen, my toes curl and my blood explodes with heat. Holy freaking crap.
Staring straight into my eyes, he blows onto my hand again. My fingers tingle with the warmth, with his touch. His thumb sweeps over my skin and my heart skips too many beats.
“You’ve got smooth skin,” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I whisper. Yeah.
Um...what? I blink. We are overly close, like if either of us moved, clothes would be against clothes, and I like the thought of his body brushing against mine way more than I should. I extract my hand from his. “I don’t mind cold hands.”
He smirks. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t.” I beeline it for his car and moronically stumble over a parking curb. Then, for giggles, I trip over my own feet. At least I stay upright—barely. “They’re always cold, even in the summer.”
West says nothing as he walks beside me, but he does watch me with an amused grin. Twice his hand flies out to grab me if I should fall. I hate him. I like him. I wish I wasn’t so pathetic.
“I’m used to it.” I glance around, wishing Marissa would pop out of thin air because friends shouldn’t let friends ramble and stumble. I massage the hand he blew on. It’s like the skin there is now hypersensitive. “It’s not a big deal since it’s normal.”
Because I can’t stupidly zip my lips, I go on to say, “My hands are always cold. It’s genetics. My mom has cold hands and her mom had cold hands. Bad circulation or something like that.”
Shut the eff up, Haley!
West pushes a button on his key chain and the lights on his Escalade flash. Like a gentleman, he opens the passenger-side door. “Good to know.” There’s a sparkle in his eye that matches the smug smile.
“What?”
The grin widens. “The cold hands. The genetics. All good things to know.”
I smile widely because I don’t know what else to do. Kill me now. West shuts my door and I knock the back of my head three times against the
“West,” I respond. Good girl. Act casual.
I should move. At least an inch. Prove to us both that I have an inkling of self-respect. But I don’t. He’s warm and...well...dammit, he’s cute. I rub my hands together, half wondering if I should thank him for what happened at lunch or if I should punch him for getting involved or if I should press my fingers to his face and save myself from frostbite amputation. I seriously want to do all three.
“Would you like a lift?” he asks.
“You really don’t listen, do you?” I try to bend my fingers, but they’re so cold they’re swollen. “I told you Friday I don’t ride with strangers.”
“Well, you are my girlfriend.”
I choke on the laugh that bubbles up my throat. West smiles and I have to admit it’s a sweet sight on his face.
“You realize,” I say, “that after what happened at lunch we’re both undeniably screwed.”
“It was an interesting first day.” He stands and extends his hand. “Come on—let me drive you home.”
I accept the offer and I hate the way my insides palpitate when his fingers wrap around mine.
“Jesus, your hands are ice cubes.” West’s hand flinches away from mine, and, with red cheeks, I pull my hand back, but West denies my retreat and reclaims my fingers.
“Don’t. It’s okay.” I yank to free myself, but I’m unsuccessful. “I’m just cold.”
“No shit. Gloves could help.”
I don’t have gloves. If I did, I’d wear them, but I lost them when we lost the storage unit. Ticked off by the reminder, I start to inform West the exact route to hell he can take when he draws my hand toward his lips.
The world stills when he opens his mouth and blows hot air onto my skin. My eyes widen, my toes curl and my blood explodes with heat. Holy freaking crap.
Staring straight into my eyes, he blows onto my hand again. My fingers tingle with the warmth, with his touch. His thumb sweeps over my skin and my heart skips too many beats.
“You’ve got smooth skin,” he murmurs.
“Yeah,” I whisper. Yeah.
Um...what? I blink. We are overly close, like if either of us moved, clothes would be against clothes, and I like the thought of his body brushing against mine way more than I should. I extract my hand from his. “I don’t mind cold hands.”
He smirks. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t.” I beeline it for his car and moronically stumble over a parking curb. Then, for giggles, I trip over my own feet. At least I stay upright—barely. “They’re always cold, even in the summer.”
West says nothing as he walks beside me, but he does watch me with an amused grin. Twice his hand flies out to grab me if I should fall. I hate him. I like him. I wish I wasn’t so pathetic.
“I’m used to it.” I glance around, wishing Marissa would pop out of thin air because friends shouldn’t let friends ramble and stumble. I massage the hand he blew on. It’s like the skin there is now hypersensitive. “It’s not a big deal since it’s normal.”
Because I can’t stupidly zip my lips, I go on to say, “My hands are always cold. It’s genetics. My mom has cold hands and her mom had cold hands. Bad circulation or something like that.”
Shut the eff up, Haley!
West pushes a button on his key chain and the lights on his Escalade flash. Like a gentleman, he opens the passenger-side door. “Good to know.” There’s a sparkle in his eye that matches the smug smile.
“What?”
The grin widens. “The cold hands. The genetics. All good things to know.”
I smile widely because I don’t know what else to do. Kill me now. West shuts my door and I knock the back of my head three times against the
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