If his girl heard him say that, she’d beat his ass, but that’s beside the point.
The point I’m trying to make is Gracie is attracted to me. That hasn’t changed. And I am attracted to her.
So what the hell is stopping us from doing something about it?
Our past behaviors. That cliché that old habits die hard fits when it comes to us.
“Whatever,” she says, exhaling loudly, reminding me that she’s still in my sanctuary and she’s still checking me out.
I’m tempted to flip the covers back and let her see me in my boxers, but she’d probably flip the fuck out and run out of the room screaming. I’m not going to chance it.
“Let’s not start anything that’s unnecessary,” I tell her, keeping my voice purposely calm. “I’m all for a truce. I know you are too. We can be civil toward each other. I don’t need to make every comment I say to you filled with sexual innuendo.”
“You sure about that? I didn’t think you were capable of not being a pervert,” she says, snarky as ever.
“Hey, where’d the truce go?” I lift my brows.
She blows out another breath, this time sounding frustrated—with herself. “Fine. You’re right. I’ll stop giving you shit if you stop giving me shit. Deal?”
“Deal.” I hold out my hand for her to shake.
She stares at it for a moment before she lifts her gaze to mine. “You want to shake on it?”
“What, you afraid to touch me?” I’m goading her. I can’t help it.
“No,” she spits out, rising to her feet. She stalks toward me, thrusting her hand out toward mine and I grab hold of it, giving her a firm shake. Keeping my grip on her hand for a few seconds too long.
Sparks ignite and start flying around us. Just from our clasping hands. She feels it too. I see it in the way her eyes widen the slightest bit and gooseflesh dots her chest. I slowly let go of her hand, keeping my fingers straight out so they slide across hers when she starts to pull away and she jerks her hand back as if I just pinched her.
“Uhh…” She clamps her lips shut and looks away.
Huh. Would you look at that. The unstoppable Gracie is at a loss for words.
“Deal,” I tell her, my voice extra soft, disguising the lethal edge.
Yeah. That was a deal all right. I think I just found a new project for the summer.
How long will it take to get Gracie in my bed?
Four
Gracie
Time is literally flying. I’ve been at Mitchell’s Landing for three weeks already, working five days a week, full-time hours out in the sun and let me tell you… I’m busting my ass out there every single day.
Dealing with customers. Happy ones, grumpy ones, flat-out angry ones. I’ve played that boating safety video so many times, I can already recite it word for word—and I’ve still got months to go. After being on the boat dock for eight hours straight, the world feels like it’s in constant motion. As if I’m always walking on a boat that’s rocking back and forth. That feeling does eventually go away once I’m off the clock though.
Thank God.
I’d hoped the girls in the fountain would be friendly toward me, and some of them are, don’t get me wrong, but a lot of them don’t like me because I work with the guys. Makes me wonder if they’re jealous. They want to be the ones working with the boys on the dock—funny how they all call them boys, when more than a few of them are full-blown adults in their early twenties.
I’ve been asked multiple times how I got the job without any of them finding out the position was open in the first place. More than one person has asked me this question, and I don’t have the answer. Michelle certainly never told me, and TJ, the dock manager, never mentioned it either.
I also had no idea my starting on the dock would cause so much drama, but oh well. I get why so many of the girls want to work on the dock. It’s easy money. As in, they’re up in the restaurant busting their ass all day, rushing around serving people, taking their orders, and cleaning up after everyone. While I’m chilling down at the dock, in my very own office—the other “dock girl” who works the shifts opposite of mine shares it with me—and I get to spend every work shift with the guys.
The very attractive, handsome guys who love to pull pranks and push each other in the water and jump off the roof of the dock office while twisting their bodies into somersaults, making me scream at the top of my lungs like a mother scolding her naughty children.
I screamed at Caleb like that, but I couldn’t help it. Watching him jump off the roof scared the crap out of me. The lake isn’t as deep this summer, thanks to the drought we’re currently suffering through in California, and I worried if he landed wrong and oh, I don’t know, broke his neck.
My yelling didn’t matter though. His head popped out of the water within seconds, a giant grin on his stupidly handsome face, all the other guys cheering him on and encouraging him.
Hanging with Caleb and the boys is a true test of my patience, I swear.
These past three weeks though, we’ve been getting along for the most part. He’s not giving me endless shit like he usually does, which is nice. We’ve even commuted together a couple of times, which okay yeah, I had to deal with him saying the normal wild and crazy things Caleb usually says, but for the most part, I can handle him. He’s not as bad as he used to be, that’s for sure. Maybe he’s maturing?
So yes, he’s being tame, save for the occasional sexy look he sends my way. And by sexy look, I mean the way his gaze scans over me as if he’s imagining me naked. Maybe I send him the same look back, because I am constantly trying to figure out what he looks like naked. I’ve seen a lot of him already. He’s always shirtless, like he has something against wearing shirts. And his legs are a work of muscular art, covered in just enough hair to look manly without reminding me of Bigfoot.
Okay, that last thought is a tad cruel, but I’m trying to put forth a mental picture here.
Maybe that’s just the way Caleb looks at all women all the time, but I swear to God, sometimes I catch him watching me, and I can read his expression. He’s thinking about—things. Naked things. Between the two of us, and that can’t be good.
Yeah, can’t be good at all.
Currently, we’re close to the end of our shift—it’s one of those days when Caleb and I drove here together—and one of the girls who works in the restaurant is hanging out on the dock, trying to get Caleb’s attention. She’s a newbie like me, having started a couple of weeks before I did, and she’s completely boy crazy, like a rabid fangirl over pretty much any guy she sees, specifically all the guys who work at Mitchell’s. Considering she’s almost twenty, I find her behavior a little over-the-top.
Since I’m twenty-two, I suppose there’s a bigger age and maturity level difference between us than I originally thought. Two years can feel like a lot of time. Caleb is two years younger than me as well, but I swear he’s acted more mature than usual lately, and it’s refreshing.
Currently, I’m standing in front of the open window of my office that I use to first greet customers on the dock, watching in silent amusement as Caleb is trying his best to get away from this girl. Her name is Noelle. She’s cute, I’ll give her that. Petite and overly tan with light blue eyes that stand out against her sun-browned skin. Those eyes of hers are full of mischief. As if she’d be down for anything.