Kiss and Don't Tell(31)

“Hmm, one . . . it’s so hard to narrow it down out of all the things I’m good at.” He’s really cute when he’s joking around. So different than the menacing man in the videos, pissed off from a loss. I really like this side of him. Not that I’ve seen many sides of him at all, but I do appreciate his teasing. “I’m really good at finding four-leaf clovers.”

“Really?” I ask. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s found one.”

“That’s upsetting. That must mean you haven’t had a lot of luck in your life.”

“Yeah, you can say that,” I scoff.

“Care to elaborate on that?”

I glance at him. “Not really.”

“Still a steel trap, got it. Also, I’m really good at reading the room and knowing when to back off or when to press. Can you tell?”

“I’ve noticed that about you. I’ve also noticed that you’re cocky but not overtly cocky. You show it in small doses.”

“No need to shove it down people’s throats.” He winks. “What about you? What’s something you’re really good at, besides being persistent about helping out and your Mars knowledge?”

I wet my lips as I rinse off another bowl. For some reason, my lips feel really dry up here. It’s either the elevation, or my body telling me they need to be wet . . . by something other than my tongue. “Well, you already know too much about me. I can’t give away all my secrets. How can I stay elusive if I do that?”

“Is that what you’re trying to do?” he asks. “Trying to stay a mystery?”

I finish washing the last bowl and hand it over before rinsing the sink. “Isn’t it more fun like that? You can always think back to the summer when the girl who pushed her car into a ditch stayed with you for a few days, but you never knew who she was, and she remained a mystery.”

He sets the last bowl down and hangs the towel up to dry. “Or you can come have a beer with me outside and tell me one thing you’re good at. Just one.”

God, that’s tempting.

So tempting.

It would be wonderful to have a moment with Pacey, to drink a beer with him and relax, but I fear if I allow myself more time with him, I’m going to grow attached, and that would be a bad idea.

Just from finding out more about him from my “research”, I know he’s not one of those guys you meet and quickly forget about. And from what I saw online today, he’s not been seen with numerous leggy model-esque women on his arm either. Not a one-and-done asshole.

No, he’s one that sticks around for a long time, maybe forever. A relationship guy.

Not sure I can handle that. Not right now.

“I’m actually getting—”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Remember when I said I’m good at reading the room? Also good at reading people, and that pause in your answer gave you away. You’re coming up with an excuse to not hang out with me, and that bruises my soul.” He clutches his chest playfully. “Want to make it up to me for staying here? Come have a beer with me out back.”

Man, is he good.

I prop my hand on the counter and comment, “You really know how to hit people where it hurts, don’t you?”

“Yup, and if you’re wondering if I’m ashamed . . .” He leans in. “I’m not.”

Gulp.

I just can’t with him. With how handsome he is. With how perfect he looks even just in a simple T-shirt and athletic shorts. But it’s the way the shirt clings to his arms and chest but is loose around his waist, it’s the fit. And then, his ass . . . if I were a poet, I’d write sonnets about his ass.

Thou art the finest ass.

That’s poetry, right?

“Do you, uh . . . do you have any hard cider? Or just beer?”

“We actually do have cider. Posey and I like it.”

“You’re a cider drinker?”

He nods. “Yeah, there’s a local brewery here that Posey and I like to go to. We’ll take you sometime this week—you know, once you figure out that equation.” He winks and goes to the fridge to pull out two bottles. He pops open our ciders on a bottle opener on the side of the fridge, then gestures toward the sliding glass door and says, “There are some egg seats in the back.”

“Egg seats?” I ask.

“That’s what I call them.” He leads the way to the back of the property, along the tree line. He ducks past a bush and holds the branches back for me. When we clear the bush, the stunning view of the Rocky Mountains steals breath from my lungs.

Just past the tops of the pine trees is a landscape view of blue mountains barely tipped with snow. Impressively stretching the length of the horizon, the mountains stand strong and proud, a view new to me, but a view that will last in my memory.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “This is . . . gorgeous.”

He hands me my cider. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t retreat back to your room now?”

“I am,” I say while taking it all in. The clouds are a heavy gray and I feel as if they’ll open up with rain any second, but it doesn’t tear me away from the picturesque combination of valley and mountains. Steep cliffs with arresting peaks, and vibrant green pine trees paint the mountainsides. It’s probably one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen.