With a heavy sigh, Brandon threw his seat belt off and opened his door. “Do not move,” he ordered before exiting and slamming the door behind him.
Must he slam everything? Didn’t he know how much her head hurt like a freakin’ bitch? She dropped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. How had her night gone from having dinner with a friend to this? Sitting in Brandon West’s truck, alcohol buzzing through her system and her head splitting open? She, Stella Davenport, civilized former professional ballet dancer, was acting like some drunk sorority girl who’d lost a bet and was now making an ass of herself in front of the hottest guy ever.
Score for her.
This was why she kept to herself. This was why she didn’t date. Setting aside the whole can’t-stand-to-be-touched-thing, Stella didn’t have a clue how to kick it with the rest of the cool people. Perhaps she’d never really learned how. When she hadn’t been dragged around from one home to the next by her mother, she’d been in a studio dancing. Or onstage. One could say she was socially awkward. Hell, she didn’t even know what to do with a gorgeous guy who was obviously into her.
She knew Brandon was into her. That was no secret. Problem was, she didn’t have the faintest clue what to do about it. Only, she acted like she did. Case in point, when Annabelle and Blake had been dancing around each other. More than once she’d told Annabelle to do the guy already. Giving her grief for not acting on her feelings.
Was she a fraud or what?
Hypocrite.
Terrified.
So she’d just stay away from him. Best solution all around. She could move forward with her choreography job and he could move on…with someone else?
Yeah that’s what he should do.
The truck door opened, and Brandon climbed in. He pocketed her keys and tossed her clutch into her lap.
“You could have just handed it to me,” she grumbled.
Brandon didn’t say anything as he put the truck in reverse and backed out of the parking space.
Fine. She could do the silent treatment too.
The throbbing in her head increased, so Stella leaned back and placed the palm of her hand on her forehead. As though that was supposed to help.
Brandon leaned across the space, not even bothering to keep his arm from brushing across her legs, and opened the glove compartment. After digging around, he withdrew a bottle of pills and tossed them in her lap. Then he handed her a half-drunk bottle of water that had been chilling in the cup holder.
She shook out two pain pills and accepted the water with a mumbled “thanks.” But then she hesitated before taking a sip of the water. Something about placing her lips where Brandon’s obviously had been was too…intimate. Too close. One step away from sealing her lips to his, which she’d been thinking about way too much tonight. And even though they’d shared a drink before, Stella still wasn’t comfortable with it.
“What’s wrong?” Brandon asked, making Stella realize she’d been staring at the bottle without drinking. “You’re not worried about cooties, are you?”
“Who even uses that word anymore?” she said before tossing the pills back and washing them down. She replaced the bottle in the cup holder and they sat in more silence. Fantastic.
“For your information,” Brandon stated, breaking the thick tension in the small cab. “Melanie is a repeat client. She’s an investor who flips houses and uses us for the renovations.”
Stella snorted. “Melanie,” she muttered to herself. Stupid name. Sounded like it belonged to a poodle, with those stupid pink bows in their ears.
“What’s that?” Brandon asked with a glance in her direction.
“Nothing.” She smiled. All fake and stuff.
His brow lifted, as though he was on to her shenanigans, then slowly placed his attention back on the road. One arm was draped casually over the steering wheel, his powerful legs relaxed and as stretched out as the seat would allow. He was a big guy who dwarfed the interior of the truck and sucked all the oxygen out of everything.
“You know, I don’t care who you spend time with.” Why? Why, why, why couldn’t she shut up?
“Kind of seems like you do,” he retorted without looking at her.
She crossed one leg over the other and bounced her foot. Nope. Not going to respond to that. Let him think what he wanted to think.
“Why would I care?” she shot back because she knew what he thought and, damn it, he was wrong.
Brandon grabbed his cell phone out of the middle console and thumbed the screen. “Because you want to get into my pants.”
Her back teeth ground together and her head twitched. Her whole head actually twitched. “Whatever.” Then she turned to look out the window, staring into the dark night so Brandon wouldn’t see the pink staining her cheeks. Damn it, she could feel the heat flaming her entire face.
“Fine,” he said in return.
Stella closed her eyes and blew out a breath. “Great.”
“Perfect,” he agreed while bringing the phone to his ear. Stella could hear the other end ringing from her seat. “Matt,” Brandon greeted when his son picked up. “Just calling to check in and to let you know I’ll be home soon.” Brandon was silent while Matt responded. “Also, tomorrow’s extra garbage day, so I need you to grab all those bags of leaves and mulch from the side yard and put them on the curb.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Did you give Duke his heartworm medication? No, you know how he is. You have to shove the thing down the back of his throat.” Another pause. “All right, I’ll see you in a bit. Love ya.” He disconnected the call and tossed the phone into the empty cup holder.
The wall she’d immediately erected around her heart cracked at the “love ya” thing. Because she was such a sucker for parents who were all into the parenting thing. Like those health insurance commercials that showed families playing a game of softball and high-fiving each other and stuff. Those always provoked the waterworks because that’s how families were supposed to be. They were supposed to look out for each other and say I love you and put each other’s needs first.
Like Brandon did with Matt. He was a good dad, which was such a turn-on. No idea why, and it pissed her off because it was just another reason why she couldn’t resist the man.
She turned from the window and glared at him, throwing out the familiar defense mechanism that never failed her. “Why do you have to be so obnoxious?”
“Because you let me,” he answered, immediately falling back into their conversation.
And look at them being all on the same page and stuff.
“What does that even mean?”
He shot her a quick glance. “That you refuse to shoot me down.”
That…Okay, yeah, he was right. She had refused to outright shoot him down. Had she ever told him there could never be anything between them? Nope, pretty sure she hadn’t. And how could he think otherwise when she all but panted like a dog in heat every time she was around him? Always mentally undressing him? Blushing?