Page 49 of On the Ropes
Tabitha
Dean slid back on the stoop, away from me. I observed the clench in his jaw and his newly rigid body language. When he cast a tiny self-conscious smile my way, a tidal wave of disappointment swept over me.
“You, um…we should be prepared to be talked about around the kiddie pool,” he said. “Or at church on Sunday.”
I regained my composure and raised an eyebrow. “That’s how you know you’ve really done something scandalous. We’re sitting outside together, where anyone can see. Dessert is involved. It’s way past your early bedtime.” I dropped my voice to a dramatic whisper. “And tomorrow? I’ll be helping you put a whole lot of trash in a dumpster.”
He was a deliberate person. Some part of me understood his pulling away was a gentle no to my unspoken question. Though who was I kidding, I hadn’t been that unspoken about anything. I wanted to blame seeing Dean Knox-Morelli in a towel and still wet from the shower. I’d watched his fights. Technically, I’d already seen him shirtless.
Up close was different. Up close had—apparently—broken my damn brain.
His shoulders had been wide as a country barn, chest covered in dark hair, every glorious ridge of his abdomen flexing. The towel had slid half an inch past his hips, and drops of water had run down his skin. His muscles had shone like a work of art, highlighting even the hidden scars.
I’d gazed longingly at that man like he was a giant ice cream cone I desperately wanted to lick. At first, I’d been embarrassed to be caught gawking those initial, awkward seconds. Until I realized he was watching me do it with a searing intensity in his eyes. He’d rubbed his hand across his mouth, throat working, and for one heady moment I’d thought he might loop his arm around my waist and drag me inside.
Dean laughed, the sound carrying on the light breeze. “I didn’t know you’d be this much trouble when you moved in next door. I think you claimed to be a quiet and respectful neighbor.”
“That was a lie,” I said, then handed him my container. “Here, I saved the last bite for you.”
His gaze slid to the side. “Is it that obvious I want more?”
“It’s super obvious, Mr. Machine.” I bit the tip of my thumb so I wouldn’t blurt out the real answer—that it was making me happy to see him happy and if he wanted a bathtub-sized trough of water ice, I’d haul it here in a flash.
My cell phone reminder alarm jangled, and I was disappointed again. I tugged it from my front pocket and shut it off as I reluctantly stood.
“It’s work,” I said apologetically. “I planned a late meeting with the marketing team from the hotel in Austin.”
He nodded and stood slowly next to me. We were just as close as we’d been sitting down, but peering up at him, feet almost touching, had my stomach flipping again. Until I saw him clearly hide a grimace.
I touched his wrist. “Are you okay?”
He rolled back his shoulders. “Don’t ever start boxing. Or train to be one. It makes a lot of things hurt, even years later.”
His tone was about as light as was possible for a man like Dean. I didn’t buy it. A litany of questions burst in my brain. How many times did you break your nose? Does your body still hurt every day? Do you really want to take that job in Las Vegas?
But he put his hand on his front door and pulled it open. “What do you think the next surprise activity will be?”
I had to work awfully hard not to appear too delighted by this question. I pinched my fingers together and mimed sealing my lips. His grin made it worth it.
“I liked this one,” he said. “A lot. Thank you. I needed it more than I realized.”
“Did you like it more than that time I accidentally fell into your lap?”
He shook his head, eyes meeting mine, filled with an alluring heat. “You’re the one whose gonna get us gossiped about. Not me.”
“But I’m not even a little bit scandalous.”
He stepped one foot inside, lips curving into a smile that was almost rakish. “I find that very hard to believe, Tabitha.”
The door clicked shut behind him. Butterflies began playing a rousing game of badminton in my stomach, and I was literally speechless.
A few seconds passed before I was able to yell out a shaky sounding, “Good night!”
I might have gotten a grunt in response, but then I checked the time and let out a stream of curses so filthy I half expected Alice to come by and hush me.
Inside, I threw off my crop top and pulled on the one button-up shirt I owned, wrinkle-free thanks to Linda’s ironing board. I opened my laptop at the tiny kitchen table and checked the time. I had five minutes, thank God, so I fiddled with my hair and threw on another coat of mascara for good measure.
Notebook in front of me, I sat down and prepared to wait for Meghan and her team to call in. I opened a few extra files where I’d been compiling ideas and research for the promo video we’d be shooting together. I scanned the screen to get reacquainted with my thoughts and had to breathe through a flutter of unease when I realized how uninspired they sounded.
