I fold my arms as well, standing my ground. “You’ve been short with me all day. Lighten up.”
“Are you really telling me to lighten up?”
“Uh . . . yeah,” I say in a tone that doesn’t seem to please her. Her eyes have turned into flames and I fear she’ll chuck the hammer in her hand right between my eyes.
“I waited for you all morning to help me with these shelves and when you finally show up, you’re not taking it seriously.”
“Ruth, they’re shelves. We’ll get them up.”
“That’s not the point. After our run, you said you’d be here at nine, but you didn’t show up until eleven. I could have been baking or helping out at Snow Roast. You might have people running your garage, but I still have to do work for Snow Roast, and I can’t waste time waiting around for you.”
“Wow,” I say holding up my hands. “I told you my mom called and asked for some help at The Lobster Landing while Griffin took Ren to the doctor.”
“Well, a phone call would have been nice,” she says, looking away.
“Is this . . . is this all a ruse so you can get my phone number?”
“What? No.”
I take a step forward. “Bullshit.”
She tightens her arms around herself. “It’s not.” She’s still not looking at me, so I close the space between us until there’s nothing but inches separating us.
“You don’t have to start a fight, Ruthie.” I push a stray piece of hair that’s fallen loose from her ponytail behind her ear. “You can just ask.”
“This is not about your number,” she says as I back her up against the wall. Her eyes widen and her hands fall to the wall behind her for support.
“All you have to say is, Brig, can I have your number please?” I draw in an inch closer and set my hands on her hips.
“I don’t want your number. This is about respecting people’s time.”
“Uh-huh.” I smile wickedly. “So why were you tense this morning during our run?”
“I wasn’t tense. I was conserving energy.” She sucks in a sharp breath when my thumbs rub over her hips. I have no idea what I’m currently doing, but the past few days it’s felt next to impossible to be near her and not touch her.
Two days ago, I went into Snow Roast, went around the counter, and pulled her into a hug. She was in the middle of serving someone, but I felt this overwhelming desire to hold her.
Yesterday, when we were walking to the hardware store to pick up some new knobs for the kitchen, as well as a new kitchen faucet, I held her hand and told her it was windy, and I didn’t want her flying away. But in reality, I had this consuming need to hold her hand.
Just like I have this consuming need to touch her right now.
To invade her space.
And she’s been feisty lately. Seems like with every passing day she gets more agitated and more irritated. I’ve tried asking her what’s wrong, why she’s so short with me, but she doesn’t answer. She just moves on to the next thing, the tension building and building.
Well, I’m over it.
“You were tense, just like you’re tense now. What’s going on with you?”
Her deep chocolate eyes search mine, flitting back and forth, her mouth barely falls open so her tongue can wet her lips.
Entranced, I watch the smooth pink of her tongue run over the plumpness of her lips. Hell, they look good. Glossy, ripe . . . ready.
My thumbs drag over her hipbones, my body heating up, erupting a thrill of need through my spine, igniting my soul, messing with my head. What would she taste like? Would she taste as sweet as I suspect? If I moved in a few more inches, would she push me away?
Would she—
“We’re pregnant!”
I shoot off Ruth like a rocket, nearly slamming her through the wall as I bounce a good five feet away from her.
“We weren’t doing anything,” I say, hands in my hair as I face my oldest brother.
Griffin and Ren both stand in the doorway of the Parlor, holding hands, amused looks on their faces.
I straighten my shirt, trying to fidget with anything I can, feeling like I just got caught doing something I shouldn’t be doing, even though I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Or maybe I was.
Was I?
I shouldn’t have been thinking what my friend’s lips taste like, that’s for damn sure.
Since no one is saying anything, I speak up again, “I know what you’re thinking and no, we weren’t doing anything. It might have looked that way, and I might have reacted like we were, but we weren’t. Not even close, nope. We were just talking about why Ruth is being so nasty to me lately. A real wench. Testy. Moody. I told her it’s because she wants my phone number, but she denies it. But if we’re laying all the cards on the table, and it feels like that’s what this moment is all about, showing our cards, I secretly think she’s been witchy lately because she might be horny—”
“Brig,” Ruth snaps at me.
“Is that not the case?” I ask, wincing when I see the violence spurting from her eyes. Swords swish and swoop from her pupils, actual swords. Pirate swords. Jagged pirate swords, flying at me with such velocity that I metaphorically worry for my penis.
“Uh, maybe we should come back,” Ren says, looking between us.
“No, Brig was just leaving.” Ruth comes up behind me and starts pushing my back, but I dig my heels in.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re leaving.” She continues to push, now digging her bony shoulder into my back, trying to gain leverage, but lucky for me, I am a giant compared to her small stature, and I don’t move.
“Still not going anywhere.” I fold my arms and stubbornly hold my ground. “Is that all you’ve got, Ruthie?”
She pushes.
I lean against her.
She pushes some more.
I lean even further.
“This is entertaining,” Griffin says, watching from the doorway.
“I think we should leave. They seem to be going through something.”
“Get . . . out . . . of . . . here,” Ruthie grunts behind me.
I examine my nails, acting bored. “Nope.”
“Ugh,” she growls and to my surprise, gives up and pulls away, only for me to land flat on my ass.
Oompf.
“Oh my ass,” I say, rolling to the side and clutching my tailbone. “You broke my ass.”
When I catch a glimpse of Ruth, she’s just standing over me, arms crossed, looking less than amused. “You’re fine,” she says, showing zero compassion.
I am fine, but figured I’d try to milk it at little. Looks like she’s not in the mood.
“Well, this is a moment I’ll never forget,” Ren says as I stand to my feet and brush off my backside.
Addressing Ruth, I say, “Would it hurt you to show an ounce of compassion? You have been—” I pause, think about why Griffin and Ren are standing in the Parlor, watching us. Slowly turning to them, I ask, “Wait . . . did you say you’re pregnant?”
“We are,” Griffin says, an overjoyed smile on his face. “Ren hasn’t been feeling great lately—”
“And you know how protective he is with me.” Ren rolls her eyes. “That’s why he went to the appointment with me this morning. Thanks for covering for us at The Landing.”