Page 11 of Comin' in Hot
Again, I say, what the fuck is wrong with me? That’s not even a good lie.
But here’s the thing…if he looks out that window, Moon will have to quit her job and go into hiding with me.
Sometimes in situations like this, I speak in very unhelpful ways. As if whatever hole I’ve dug for myself just isn’t deep enough.
It’s like my brain goes,“Wow, you’re really embarrassing yourself.”
And my mouth goes,“Hold my beer.”
I can already tell this will be one of those moments. Because instead of letting our misunderstanding die a much-needed death, I do the opposite.
“Why would I say, ‘Show me the goods’?”
I laugh three huffed laughs. I know it’s three because each time they get emptier. He glances at me but doesn’t stop craning his neck, so I shoot out, “What goods? Nothing good out that window. That’s for sure.”
Fuckity fuck.He’s going to see. In a desperate move, I clap my hands together, rewarded with his attention. So I jump on the reprieve.
“’Cause like, who am I? Cuba Gooding Jr.?” If cringe wasn’t in the building, it moves in the moment I exuberantly say, ‘Show me the monaayyy.’”
His brows draw together, and I begin to think I’d be less obvious if I just hurled myself through the damn window.
He’s staring at me, and I’m not sure how to not look like an idiot, so I top it off with a whispered “Hated that movie.”
Somebody punch me in the face.
On the upside, his back is to the possible X-rated view outside. On the downside, we’re just standing here, and I really need him four feet to the right.
I swear to god I’m sweating. Suspense in movies is unbearable, so in real life it’s vomit producing.
A branch cracks under his flip-flop, and my heart races. This is my own personal horror movie.Just move, one-two-three-four feet. Come on.
Just as it looks like he might be abandoning his mission, he starts to turn around.
“I’ve got it!”
Did I just scream that? Yes. Yes, I did.
His shoulders jump, but he faces me, taking two of those feet away from the window. I almost whoosh out a breath as he turns his mouthwateringly broad back to it too, his eyes locked to mine.
“Got what?”
“The answer to the mystery…of who you heard. Since I haven’t spoken.”
He crosses his arms with a chuckle, so I keep speaking.
“It must’ve been somebody’s television.”
I smile, but I can feel my head ever so slightly tilting right over and over like I’m trying to influence his subconscious to walk away further.
“There aren’t any TVs on the property,” he levels, still armed with that smirk.
Fuck. Just let me have this, dude.
I shrug. “Maybe it was a laptop?”
“Okay.”
He says it so easily that it throws me off. Or maybe I’m unsteady because he’s closing the distance between us, making my breath hitch before he picks an olive out of my hair.
