Page 42 of The Hang Up
“Okay,” she said slowly, still fighting to keep from jumping out of her skin andbonkinghim over the head with her skillet or tying him up in her closet so he couldn’t go. She looked up at him, hoping like hell her expression didn’t give away how terrified she felt. “And how do you keep yourself from bonking?”
He looked at her, his gaze seeming to assess whether she was genuinely curious or on the brink of yelling at him. Miriam wasn’t too sure herself.
“I eat smart before I climb, I drink plenty of water, I make sure I’m well rested, and I stop moving if I’m feeling weird or dizzy,” he said slowly. “But obviously there are no guarantees.”
“Right.” She swallowed hard. “No guarantees.”
Those two words underscored everything Miriam had been thinking these last few hours.Don’t get attached. Keep it casual. Nothing good can come from you losing your heart to an adrenaline junkie, so make damn sure that doesn’t happen.
This conversation stood as a good reminder of why.
She cleared her throat. “Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you to be careful.”
“You don’t,” he said, offering her a small smile. “But I will anyway.”
“And since we’ve agreed this is a casual thing between us, I guess I don’t have to waste my time fretting about your well-being or worrying about how you might not come home.”
He laughed as he set the skillet aside. He started to reach for the saucepan, then seemed to stop himself and reached for her instead.
“You don’t,” he agreed as he pulled her tight against him, sudsy hands and all.
Miriam started to protest, but he felt so good and solid and warm that she gave up and twined her wet fingers behind his neck.
“You don’thaveto worry about me at all,” he said. “But you’re welcome to do it anyway.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked, annoyed with her traitorous heart for speeding up.
“Because you care about my well-being. Even if we’re not getting attached. Or involved. Or anything else that implies something other than a casual fling.”
“Right.” She buried her face against his chest. “Nothing serious at all.”
She closed her eyes, thinking it was easier said than done.
CHAPTER8
“You want a lick of my ice cream, Uncle Jason?”
“Well—”
Jason looked at the waterfall of melted chocolate running down Henry’s arm and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.
Ellie beat him to the punch by whipping out a packet of wet wipes. “Uncle Jason has his own ice cream, sweetie,” she said as she swiped vainly at her son’s hands and face.
“But that’s very nice of you to offer,” Jason said. “Sharing is good.”
“Yeah,” Henry said. “Just not underpants. Or boogers. Or spit.”
“No, those aren’t good things to share,” Jason agreed, though he didn’t entirely rule out spit-swapping. The thought made him remember what it felt like to kiss Miriam, deep and wet and?—
“Open wide,” Ellie said, and Jason looked back to see her popping the last piece of ice cream cone into Henry’s mouth. “There you go. Now you can run off and play on the swings.”
“Will you come push me?”
“In a minute,” Ellie said. “I want to talk to your Uncle Jason right now.”
“Grown-up stuff?”
“Grown-up stuff,” Ellie confirmed.
