Fall Guy (7 page)

"I agree. At least I'm not in the heat."

Not that the stuffy little room with its tiny, rusty fan is much better than being outside under the blistering sun. And not saying I wouldn't be happy to sweat under said blistering sun if I had Winchester
Youngblood
to keep me company.

After our paint fight last week, the hours we spent
together slipped by too fast, and
by the end,
I felt like a little kid regretting the dip
of the sunset at the reluctant end of a perfect day.

It was clear he was attracted to me, sneaky as he thought he was with all those long looks
he threw my way when he assumed
I wasn't looking, like he was a big bad wolf and I was some fairytale character flouncing on his path. But I could also feel that he was pulling back, trying to
stomp that out. And that's why I let my temper cool when he acted like such a lowlife
douchebag
. Once I thought about it, I realized it was all an act and wondered why.

And the only answer that makes sense is that he felt a spark between us
,
and it scared him.

But nothing scares me. Not since I fucked every single thing in my life up anyway. What do I have to be scared about?

Well, maybe he scares me a little. I have a shitty track record with guys, and there is this gnawing fear that this is just another potential disaster, which is why I lied to Brenna.
Or tried to lie to Brenna.
But that little prickle of fear isn't enough to keep me from hurling myself towards this whole potential craziness with complete abandon.

It feels scarily good to freefall when I'm with Winch. I've been treading carefully for months now, and it goes against my natural grain. Winch is someone who makes me happy to attempt dipping my
toe into crazy waters of possible romance again
.

"I don't mind working out here." He jerks a thumb at the ground, choked with weeds. "I'll hammer this out in no time. My grandfather used to make us weed as punishment when we were kids. I got pretty damn quick." He glances around at the hills and valleys and oceans of paper and files on every surface of the floor. "You're
gonna
be swamped.
Wanna
hand when I'm done?"

"Are you implying that you need to do my work
and
yours?"

I lean out the window, and our faces are so close I can see the starbursts of navy around his pupils.

He
twines a piece of my hair around his
finger. He tries
to look nonchalant, but the tight dr
aw of his lips hints at all the
tension he's working to hide.
His voice drops and he leans his face so close to mine, I can smell the sweet mint on his breath.

"I'm implying that if I have to kill my
self to get through this damn
weeding so I can come
inside and spend the day with you, it would be cool if you'd let me."

And there it is.
The pull that always dances my way and yanks me tight after any push.
Last week started out all about distance but eventually slid us closer, and this week seems to be about nothing but closing until there's no space left between us at all.

I take the reins and hold tight so my voice doesn't flutter too much.

"I will be cool and let you, as long as you don't get in my way."

He takes
a
ballcap
out of his back pocket
and pulls it low over his eyes, and I tip the bill up with my finger and watch the smile commandeer the bottom half of his face.

"Work fast," I whisper.

"Will do.
And I'm not making any promises about staying out of your way. I never had any fun at these community service things before you came around. You can't ask me to a
void the only person I actually like
hangi
ng out with
."

He picks up a rake that someone left tossed on the ground and leans against it, the pull of his tanned muscles setting my mouth to water.

But it's his words that make my heart boomerang. It's all casual right this minute, but maybe it's the first taste of something more, something exciting.

"You know, you don't have to go breaking the law if you want to spend time with me. Most guys just ask me on a date. Not that I always accept."

I prop my elbow on the sill and hold my chin in my han
d, batting my lashes with intense
suggestion.

His spine snaps up and the dark blue of his irises deepen
s
closer to black. "I better get to work or I'll be out here all day."

I watch him rush toward the far end of the plo
t he needs to weed, as I
smother the huff of
indig
nation pressing
against my lips.

I pick up a few files, and det
ermine that I will tackle
one paper at a time, no matter how long, hard, and grueling it is. While I sort Abbots from
Babcocks
, I also work very hard to keep my mind from wondering why Winchester didn't take me up on my offer.

I tend to be the kind of girl who lets whatever's on my mind explode out and ignite whatever's around me, which accounts for some of my recent trouble. I just can't let things sit. I could sooth my ego and tell myself that he was just being shy, but a guy as good-looking and charming as Winchester
Youngblood
doesn't have a shy cell in his brain.

I glance out the window. His shirt is already getting soaked with sweat
and clings tight to his shoulders
, showing off the lean curl of his back as he heaves weeds out of the dirt with rapid, almost frantic yanks.

Because it's hot
outside and he wants to finish quickly
.

Or because he wants to finish quickly and come in to help me.

Then why the
hell not ask
me on a date? I sort through a whole slew of
Babcocks
with half an eye before I find some
Conways
and make a neat stack, A, B, C. Maybe I misread the signals, as usual.

S
uddenly
I
wonder if the most
obvious reason is getting tossed to the side like
mental
junk mail: maybe he has a girlfriend.

That would be a game stopper because I would never even run my finger over home-wrecker territory. My best friend, or the-bitch-I-thought-was-my-best-
friend-before-I-met-Brenna-and-r
ealized-what-that-term-actually-means, screwed my ex-boyfriend just before he and I broke up.

I slam the few files
I've culled into the drawer
with a
crash that shakes the entire metal
structure and wonder if I still hate her more than I realize. I caught her and him together, and seeing the two of them
having sex
made it feel like she drugged me, cut my heart out with a scalpel, took a bite, and sewed it back in. Rabin was such a bastard, and I was almost waiting for him to crush me.
But Mackenzie?
I'd opened up to her m
ore than most people in my life.

Letting her get close had been one of my biggest mistakes, but I refuse to let the way she
hurt me shape how much I open up
to other people. Brenna helped me get over what Mackenzie had done and wound up being one of the best people to ever come into my world.

I believe in jumping over past hurts and letting love in. I try to believe, anyway, and am trying, even as images of Mackenzie and Rabin flash through my head and cause me to slam another drawer closed.

"What did that file cabinet do to you?"

Winch's
voice has me spinning around, and
I make a mental note to keep the corners of my mouth tugged slightly down. I have things to figure out before I start snapping tons of smiles his way. The instant after I think that thought, I feel the upward inch of a grin I have to force back down.

"That cabinet is taking the bla
me for all these stupid files. Are y
ou coming to help with this mess?"

His shrug
and half-smile move
up and down almost imperceptibly. "Officer said I can do whatever I like. I haven't decided."

I may love his company, but I'm sure as hell not letting him know that.

"You
know, you
kind of stink. It might be hard for me to work with you so close." Despite my resolve not to smile at him, one creeps on my face.

"
Rolo
said he needs help outside." He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms
over his chest, which makes his triceps bulge. "Say the word, and I'll leave."

"Winchester Youngblood, you do whatever your little heart desires. It doesn't matter to me one way or another."

To
grandslam
my point home, I flip through a stack of papers and stare at them intently, moving my lips like I'm talking to myself about important filing issues and have no interest in what Winch decides to do.

Meanwhile, my ears are pricked for his response, and I'm hoping he's going to pull
closer
instead of push
ing away
.

"Alright.
If you don't complain about my man-stink, I won't complain about having to
do paperwork."

He heaves
off the door
and starts to move closer to me. W
hen I catch him taking a dis
creet sniff under his arms,
my smile expands so wide, it hurts my cheeks.

I slide the files into a cabinet, close it with one hip, and crook my finger his way.

"What?" he asks, but his voice is low and husky.

I crook my finger again and he maneuvers around the papers until we're a foot or two apart.

I lea
n forward until there isn’t more than five inches between us
.

"Hot sweaty man is one of my all-time favorite smells." I watch his pupils dilate and feel the tickle of a thrill pirouette down my spine. "Now come help
me
find the rest of the
Deckers
so we can finish this filing, and I might just take you to my favorite pizza place when we're done."

I should have gone out and chopped wood or whatever the fuck it was
Rolo
needed help with, because being this close to Evan isn't going to work.

And, to top it all off, she asked me out.

I avoi
ded answering because I know what I want to answer isn’t what I should
, and now we're both working like two busy-ass ants in a hill
, trying not to crash into
all the awkwardness hanging in the space between us
.

"Did you find the other
Fischers
?" she asks and leans over to sort through some papers on the floor.

She leans from her waist, her long, sweet body folded in half, and I notice her feet are always pointed toe out, like maybe she's a dancer. She definitely has the body for it.

"No. Just a whole hell of a lot of Harris files. That family needs to send one of their kids to law school, 'cause they're
gonna
have legal bills out the ass forever."

My breath slams through my lungs when her laugh rings out, loud and happy, filling this stuffy, dirty room with something so good, I never want to leave it.

I push that thought out of my head. This wasn't supposed to have gone as far as it did. I should never have knocked on the glass when I saw her this morning, all my fears that she'd been reassigned put to rest. I should have walked right past her when she was sitting
there, slumped on the floor,
that day at court. She probably would have jetted if it wasn't for me interfering.

She would have missed her court date, and by the time she got reassigned, my community service would have been almost over, and I wouldn't be stuck thinking of a way to dodge this date I want to go on with her
so badly
, but can't.

I just can't, and it's too complicated to explain why to her, even though I want her to know
all the reasons why more than I've ever wanted anything before. I want to tell her...everything.

But that's not a possibility.

"Winch?"

She's got her head bent over some papers she's sorting between her fingers, so I almost don't hear her say my name.

Which would be a shame, because I love the way my name sounds from her mouth.