I think my knees go weak. I’m not sure because my brain has screeched to a halt.
Holy hell, he’s potent. Heat and vitality come off him in waves. I think I sway a bit. He is close enough that I notice the faint stubble along his strong chin and the glints of gold in his brown hair. He wears it cut short, and thick clusters of it spike along the top and front. It’s flattened a bit on one side as if he’d rolled out of bed and forgotten to brush it. But I doubt that was the case, because he smells fantastic—like warm pears and crisp air. I almost lean in for a better whiff, but manage to control myself.
The silence between us grows awkward until I can’t stop myself from glancing up, just in time to catch him jerking back, as if he too had taken a covert sniff. Doubtful. He’s casually stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets and smiling with ease, the gesture pulling a little dimple in on his left cheek.
I almost smile, start to rethink my earlier stance of avoidance. Then he opens his mouth and ruins everything.
The warm cadence of his voice rolls over me before the words actually make sense. “Hey there, Big Red.”
My world grinds to a loud, screeching halt. Big Red? What the ever-loving knuckle fuck?
I gape up at him, too shocked to even form a proper glare. And he squints back, that inane smile still in place, as if he’s waiting for me to answer. My mind is stuck on one thing.
He’d called me Big Red. Big Fucking Red.
His comment is a punch to the gut. Yet not entirely out of left field. I’m a redhead. Being called “red” goes with the territory. It’s not the “red” part that bothers me. It’s the “big” part. Having been chubby for most of my adolescence has left me sensitive. It doesn’t matter that I’m now more curves than chub; that I like my body. One stupid word from this guy and I feel the pain all over again, damn it. Somehow, I find my voice.
“What did you just call me?”
The corners of his eyes crease in what might be a wince. “Ahh… If I say ‘nothing’, can we move on and pretend it didn’t happen?”
I almost smile at that one, which irritates me further. “No.”
He shifts his weight to his other foot. “Relax, I was only trying—”
“Do not,” I point a finger at him, “tell me to ‘relax’ when you’ve insulted me, bud.”
“Bud?” He makes a strangled sort of half-laugh.
“I’m not ‘big’,” I snap. There’s more hurt in my voice than I’d like to admit. I hate that too.
His head jerks back like I’ve surprised him. It’s a small movement, one that he tries to hide by putting his hands low on his narrow hips. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. Believe me, I was referring to the best of places.” His butterscotch gaze drifts down and roves over my chest. Instantly, my breasts feel exposed, heavy yet tight. And to my utter humiliation, my nipples go stiff. As he is staring, he sees and sucks in a sharp breath.
Fuck this. “Eyes up, asshole.”
He flinches again, his eyes snapping up to my face. “Sorry,” he says, not even a little sheepish. “I’d like to say it won’t happen again, but I honestly can’t promise that, Red.”
“Jesus, you’re unbelievable.”
He scratches the back of his neck, squinting at me as if I’ve become a painful sight. “Look, can we start over?” He thrusts out a massive hand attached to a forearm corded with muscle. “Hi, I’m Drew.”
I don’t take his hand, and he’s forced to let it fall.
“I know who you are.”
His smile returns. This one far too pleased.
“You said your name less than an hour ago,” I remind him.
His confident attitude falters, but he tries again, I’ll give him that. “Well, at least you remembered. I remember too, Anna Jones.”
I ignore the flush of surprise washing over me and cross my arms in front of me. “And I don’t need to start over. I’m not interested in talking to some egotistical meathead who ogles my breasts and calls me idiotic names.”