Wicked Sexy Liar
Page 50
“Thanks,” I tell him. “That would be . . . awesome.”
He slips on his sunglasses and follows me into the parking lot. We reach my car, and even though his eyes are hidden behind his dark lenses, I can sense the hopeful way he stares down at me. “So . . . what time?”
There are a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but as I lean against my car door, I find myself wanting to hang out with him so much it almost feels urgent. Luke is managing to break down my walls one smile at a time. Being with him feels a little like letting go of the handlebars and racing down a hill. And it also feels like being wrapped up in the warmest blanket.
How can he feel both like an adventure and a comfort?
“Six,” I tell him. “And fair warning: you have to bring pizza and let her braid your hair if she asks.”
* * *
“YOU KNOW, IF I do say so myself, this was a great idea. You’re a fantastic babysitter.” I wiggle my toes, feet propped up on Fred’s coffee table. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face, Blue Crush.”
Luke grins at me from across the room where he’s sitting with Daisy at a small table, in an even smaller chair, in the midst of what appears to be an elaborate tea party. His usually soft, floppy hair is spiky now, tied up by fluorescent hairbands in about twenty tiny, crazy ponytails.
He leans toward Daisy conspiratorially and hikes his thumb in my direction. “I told you she thought I was pretty.”
Daisy slides a couple of decorative flowers into the mess of his hair. I laugh under my breath and sit up. “Well, how could I not? I mean, Daisy must have lettered in dolly hair, too, because yours looks amazing like that. Is she friends with your sister?”
“You said there’d be no teasing,” he tells me, and politely thanks Daisy when she offers him more tea.
“That doesn’t really sound like a thing I would say to you, Luke.”
“Fine,” he says, giving me a little wink. “Go ahead and joke, but don’t think I didn’t see you watching while she put in these ponytails. You love my hair.” He leans forward and puts a hand over each of her tiny ears before he adds, “And I remember how much you love to get your hands in it.”
“You had to cover her ears for that?” I ask. “That wasn’t even dirty.”
“The dirty part was implied,” he says, dropping his hands. “Sometimes the dirtiest things are the simplest. Like your swimsuit the other day: it covered more because you had to move and work in the water, but it was still hotter than some skimpy thing that shows sideboob.”
I can only look at him and blink. “But you didn’t have to cover her ears for that?”
“Oh, shi— crap. Sorry.”
I stand and walk over to them, and without even thinking, brush a finger over a piece of his hair that’s come loose. I think about how it felt to have my hands on his hips while I helped him balance at the beach, or how his eyes moving down my body felt hotter than the sun overhead. I quickly take a step back.
I veer us into safer territory: “You definitely get points for being a good sport.”
I expect him to make some crack about “points” meaning blow jobs or something, but instead he just says, “I’m having fun.”
“Would you like some tea?” Daisy says, lifting the plastic pot toward me.
“I don’t think so, honey. It’s pretty late and too much tea might keep us up.”
“I’m not tired,” she says, and turns back to her dolls. “And I want to keep playing with Luke. He’s nice. Don’t you think he’s nice, Logan?”
Luke snickers and I pinch his arm before kneeling at the table to smooth her hair. “He is nice. And silly goose, you know my name is London.”
“But Luke calls you Logan,” she says.
“Maybe he can come back and play again,” I tell her. “I bet we could get him to read you a story?”
“We’re gonna watch Frozen. He pinky promised.”
I look at him. “You pinky promised?”
He leans in. “I used my left pinkie. It’s the sneaky one, so feel free to veto.”
Daisy agrees to pajamas and teeth brushing if it means Luke and part of a movie before bed. I really can’t say I blame her.
We settle into the couch, Daisy on Luke’s lap and me—at her insistence—next to them. Right next to them, which basically translates into the three of us crammed into one corner, with room for at least four more adults in the space left unoccupied.
She allows him to take the bands out of his hair without much fuss, if he promises to wear her Elsa necklace and never take it off. Ever. She’s pretty insistent on this point, and it takes everything I have not to smile as he reasons with her, explaining that he works in a big fancy office and her necklace might not look okay with his suit. In the end they both get their way and find a compromise: Luke only has to wear the necklace for a few hours, as long as he holds her hand.
He’ll make a brilliant attorney one day, I’m sure.
Luke is solid and warm at my side, and the TV glows in front of us, painting the room in flickering shadow. It takes a few minutes to get her settled, but soon Daisy is snuggled up and rather pleased with herself that she’s pretty much gotten her way. Her hand looks positively tiny in his and I keep blinking down to it, marveling at how much bigger he is than her and how absolutely gentle he’s being. I try to pay attention to what’s happening on the screen—there’s a lot of snow and even more singing—but it’s hard to follow amid the crisis I’m having over his holding her tiny little hand. I never find that sort of thing sexy. I don’t. I swear.
About five minutes later, Luke’s voice breaks into my thoughts: “I think she’s out.”
I look over to meet his eyes, and in this light he’s all cheekbones and sharp jaw. The ends of his eyelashes glow against the screen.
“Is she asleep?” he asks.
I blink several times before I understand what he’s talking about. Right, Daisy. The child I’m supposed to be babysitting. I lean forward and sure enough, her eyes are closed, her breaths soft and even. “Yeah, out like a light. Good job.”
“I make a pretty good bed, but I think two slices of pizza and a movie did most of the work.”
“No, really,” I whisper. “This whole night—you’ve been amazing. You waltz in here with dinner and your dreamboat smile, all adorable and charming and made everything easy. Well done, Mr. Sutter.”
“You think I’m charming?” he says, and grins. The glow from the TV accentuates the way his face softens when he smiles, and I have to look away.
“Is that all you took out of that whole thing?” I ask.
“I also got adorable, dreamboat, and easy.”
I laugh, rubbing a hand over my face. “Of course you did.”
We watch the rest of the movie together in silence, and I check my phone for the time. It’s only then that I realize I haven’t heard his go off for what has to be a few hours now. It’s not on the coffee table, and when I think about it, I can’t even remember when I saw it last. “Did you shut your phone off?” I ask, looking around.
He leans forward to take a drink and sits back with an exaggerated sigh. “Daisy made me. She said it was rude.”
I laugh. “Well, Daisy is the boss.”
He slips on his sunglasses and follows me into the parking lot. We reach my car, and even though his eyes are hidden behind his dark lenses, I can sense the hopeful way he stares down at me. “So . . . what time?”
There are a million reasons why this is a bad idea, but as I lean against my car door, I find myself wanting to hang out with him so much it almost feels urgent. Luke is managing to break down my walls one smile at a time. Being with him feels a little like letting go of the handlebars and racing down a hill. And it also feels like being wrapped up in the warmest blanket.
How can he feel both like an adventure and a comfort?
“Six,” I tell him. “And fair warning: you have to bring pizza and let her braid your hair if she asks.”
* * *
“YOU KNOW, IF I do say so myself, this was a great idea. You’re a fantastic babysitter.” I wiggle my toes, feet propped up on Fred’s coffee table. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face, Blue Crush.”
Luke grins at me from across the room where he’s sitting with Daisy at a small table, in an even smaller chair, in the midst of what appears to be an elaborate tea party. His usually soft, floppy hair is spiky now, tied up by fluorescent hairbands in about twenty tiny, crazy ponytails.
He leans toward Daisy conspiratorially and hikes his thumb in my direction. “I told you she thought I was pretty.”
Daisy slides a couple of decorative flowers into the mess of his hair. I laugh under my breath and sit up. “Well, how could I not? I mean, Daisy must have lettered in dolly hair, too, because yours looks amazing like that. Is she friends with your sister?”
“You said there’d be no teasing,” he tells me, and politely thanks Daisy when she offers him more tea.
“That doesn’t really sound like a thing I would say to you, Luke.”
“Fine,” he says, giving me a little wink. “Go ahead and joke, but don’t think I didn’t see you watching while she put in these ponytails. You love my hair.” He leans forward and puts a hand over each of her tiny ears before he adds, “And I remember how much you love to get your hands in it.”
“You had to cover her ears for that?” I ask. “That wasn’t even dirty.”
“The dirty part was implied,” he says, dropping his hands. “Sometimes the dirtiest things are the simplest. Like your swimsuit the other day: it covered more because you had to move and work in the water, but it was still hotter than some skimpy thing that shows sideboob.”
I can only look at him and blink. “But you didn’t have to cover her ears for that?”
“Oh, shi— crap. Sorry.”
I stand and walk over to them, and without even thinking, brush a finger over a piece of his hair that’s come loose. I think about how it felt to have my hands on his hips while I helped him balance at the beach, or how his eyes moving down my body felt hotter than the sun overhead. I quickly take a step back.
I veer us into safer territory: “You definitely get points for being a good sport.”
I expect him to make some crack about “points” meaning blow jobs or something, but instead he just says, “I’m having fun.”
“Would you like some tea?” Daisy says, lifting the plastic pot toward me.
“I don’t think so, honey. It’s pretty late and too much tea might keep us up.”
“I’m not tired,” she says, and turns back to her dolls. “And I want to keep playing with Luke. He’s nice. Don’t you think he’s nice, Logan?”
Luke snickers and I pinch his arm before kneeling at the table to smooth her hair. “He is nice. And silly goose, you know my name is London.”
“But Luke calls you Logan,” she says.
“Maybe he can come back and play again,” I tell her. “I bet we could get him to read you a story?”
“We’re gonna watch Frozen. He pinky promised.”
I look at him. “You pinky promised?”
He leans in. “I used my left pinkie. It’s the sneaky one, so feel free to veto.”
Daisy agrees to pajamas and teeth brushing if it means Luke and part of a movie before bed. I really can’t say I blame her.
We settle into the couch, Daisy on Luke’s lap and me—at her insistence—next to them. Right next to them, which basically translates into the three of us crammed into one corner, with room for at least four more adults in the space left unoccupied.
She allows him to take the bands out of his hair without much fuss, if he promises to wear her Elsa necklace and never take it off. Ever. She’s pretty insistent on this point, and it takes everything I have not to smile as he reasons with her, explaining that he works in a big fancy office and her necklace might not look okay with his suit. In the end they both get their way and find a compromise: Luke only has to wear the necklace for a few hours, as long as he holds her hand.
He’ll make a brilliant attorney one day, I’m sure.
Luke is solid and warm at my side, and the TV glows in front of us, painting the room in flickering shadow. It takes a few minutes to get her settled, but soon Daisy is snuggled up and rather pleased with herself that she’s pretty much gotten her way. Her hand looks positively tiny in his and I keep blinking down to it, marveling at how much bigger he is than her and how absolutely gentle he’s being. I try to pay attention to what’s happening on the screen—there’s a lot of snow and even more singing—but it’s hard to follow amid the crisis I’m having over his holding her tiny little hand. I never find that sort of thing sexy. I don’t. I swear.
About five minutes later, Luke’s voice breaks into my thoughts: “I think she’s out.”
I look over to meet his eyes, and in this light he’s all cheekbones and sharp jaw. The ends of his eyelashes glow against the screen.
“Is she asleep?” he asks.
I blink several times before I understand what he’s talking about. Right, Daisy. The child I’m supposed to be babysitting. I lean forward and sure enough, her eyes are closed, her breaths soft and even. “Yeah, out like a light. Good job.”
“I make a pretty good bed, but I think two slices of pizza and a movie did most of the work.”
“No, really,” I whisper. “This whole night—you’ve been amazing. You waltz in here with dinner and your dreamboat smile, all adorable and charming and made everything easy. Well done, Mr. Sutter.”
“You think I’m charming?” he says, and grins. The glow from the TV accentuates the way his face softens when he smiles, and I have to look away.
“Is that all you took out of that whole thing?” I ask.
“I also got adorable, dreamboat, and easy.”
I laugh, rubbing a hand over my face. “Of course you did.”
We watch the rest of the movie together in silence, and I check my phone for the time. It’s only then that I realize I haven’t heard his go off for what has to be a few hours now. It’s not on the coffee table, and when I think about it, I can’t even remember when I saw it last. “Did you shut your phone off?” I ask, looking around.
He leans forward to take a drink and sits back with an exaggerated sigh. “Daisy made me. She said it was rude.”
I laugh. “Well, Daisy is the boss.”
