“No.” I breathe the word out in disbelief.
“Unfortunately, yes.” His dry tone has the laugh I was desperately trying to restrain bursting free.
My hands come up to cover my mouth. “Oh, CK.”
“Yeah…so…”
My mind starts to spin as his words trail off again. My gaze bounces between us, the height of the counter making it so I’m taller than usual and throwing off my calculations.
“Why do you look like you’re trying to do math in your head?”
Ouch.
I shake off his accidental dig and turn it into a joke instead. “Well…I mean, I kind of am.”
His head swivels around, glancing around the laundry room before coming back to me with a shrug. “Wouldn’t chemistry be more fitting for this room than equations and limits?”
I hop down from the counter, my landing quiet thanks to my bare feet and years of experience dismounting stunts. “Listen, funny man…” I toss my hair back and poke CK in the chest. “Math may be the devil’s work, but I’ll have you know I squeaked out an A-minus in business calc.”
He holds his hands up, stepping away from my touch as if expecting me to strike him. “I didn’t mean any offense, Red.”
He just had to go and call me Red, didn’t he?
Dammit.
“It’s your damn fault I’m over here thinking I need to bust out my protractor to figure out what angle you could have come in on that had you headbutting that poor woman’s nose.” Again I have to smother a giggle behind my hand as a slow-motion replay runs inside my head.
“It’s not like they cover kissing angles in geometry.” He tosses his arms in the air defensively.
A smile stretches my lips. We’re quasi-arguing, and I’m over here grinning like a fool because we’re arguing. Why? Because a month ago, CK would have never had the confidence to do so with me. With Em and Kay? Sure. Me? Not so much.
“See?” I pop him on the arm with a backhand. “And you’re over there making fun of me for trying to figure it out.”
He smirks and adjusts his glasses. He. Freaking. Adjusts. His. Glasses.
I’m done for. My brain cells are officially on lust overload.
Scrunching my toes, I dig them into the skinny rug placed in the center of the room and close the gap that has grown between CK and me.
“Show me,” I suggest.
CK’s brows dip below his frames. “Show you what?”
“Show me how you went in for the kiss.”
He rears back. “What?”
Oh, that sputtering incredulity is so not good for the ego.
Bouncing a finger between us, I say again, “Show me how you went in for the kiss.”
“Why?” He drags the question out to multiple syllables.
“Because I’m still having a hard time picturing how it was physically possible to do what you suspect you did.” I clap my hands together, the sound ringing out in the acoustics of the room. “Now come on.” I crook a finger. “Show me.”
He shakes his head, a lock of his hair falling over his forehead, but he ignores it as he stares me down. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I say with complete certainty.
“You don’t know that.” He gives me another headshake. “I don’t need your dad or someone flying out here to remind me how you don’t mess with Texas if I inadvertently break his baby girl’s nose.”
I snort. I can’t help it; the visual is too damn amusing. “For one”—I extend a finger—“it’s Abuelita you should be scared of, not Daddy. And for two”—a second finger gets added—“Mamá would probably buy you a thank you gift for finally creating the opportunity to make it perfectly symmetrical.”
CK arches a brow at my tone but doesn’t comment. Thank god because even I know I sounded a tad more sarcastic and bitter than I intended.
“Now stop stalling. You should know me well enough by now to know I’m not letting you out of this room until we do this.”
He twists, looking toward the closed door as if he’s contemplating making a run for it.
I stiffen, waiting for a rejection.
Instead, CK turns back to face me. His hands shake, then ball into fists at his sides before he draws in a deep inhalation.
Planting my heels, I wait him out. He needs to make the first move because if it’s me, it’ll only end with me throwing myself at him.
Finally, his hands rise to cup my shoulders, his hold not loose but not tight either; it’s more like it’s just…there.
I lift my chin, tilting my face toward CK, only to have him rapidly descend toward me. I can’t think of any other way to describe it. There’s no finesse, no buildup. It’s like I’m Marsha Brady, and he’s the football flying directly for my nose. Thank you, TV Land, for that pop culture reference.
“Whoa.” I bob and weave out of harm’s way.
“Sorry.” A blush fills CK’s cheeks.
“Don’t apologize.” I latch on to his forearm when he tries to slink away. “It showed me what I needed to know.”
“Yeah, that I’m such a lousy kisser my lips don’t even need to make contact to reveal that.”
I give him a good smack to the shoulder, the skin-on-skin contact making the hit sound worse than it was. Whoops.
“Stop talking about my friend like that.” I arch a brow, daring him to challenge me again.
And you know what he does? The stubborn man accepts my challenge. Mierda.
“Don’t lie to me.”
I huff out a breath. “I’m not.”
“You are. It’s fine. You can tell me the only angles I excel at are with billiards and bowling, not the babes.”
“The babes?” I chuckle. “Points for alliteration, though.”
“Don’t make me laugh. This is serious, Quinn.”
“Must be if you’re back to calling me Quinn and using that extra-deep voice,” I say, lowering the register of my own voice to mimic his. “Now, will you chill so I can show you where you went wrong?”
Oh, wow. If only Tessa could see me now. If she were in here instead of outside on the deck, she would slow-clap the move I’m about to make, it’s that good.
“Okay,” I say, more to psyche myself up after he nods.
I can totally do this.
Thumbs pressing along my fingers, I crack my knuckles, then shake out my hands before lifting them to rest on the curve of his shoulders.
“First, you wanna go slow.” I glide my hands toward his neck. “They may know what’s about to happen, but if you take your time, it helps build the tension.”
My fingers fan out, touching as much of him as possible as I follow the curve of his throat up to the strong line of his jaw.
“Touching like this is always good.” I cup the side of his face, the skin still smooth from when he shaved, preparing for his date tonight. “It helps show a sense of possession and a level of care you don’t always get to experience outside of this moment.”
Shifting closer, I press onto my toes, balancing on them with the same skill I employ at the top of a stunt.
“As long as our hair isn’t in some elaborate updo laden with bobby pins galore”—I thread my fingers through his thick mane, the strands short but enough to grab onto—“a little hair tugging works too.”