Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(45)

When she had drank as much as she could, she got out of bed and called out to him. “It’ll only take me a minute to get dressed, so I can give you a ride to BART.”

He didn’t answer so she took a few steps into the hallway and peeked into the kitchen. The clock radio over the microwave was playing Green Day while Liam rinsed out the blender in the sink, humming to himself with his back to her. The kitchen window faced south, picking up a low ray of morning sun that lit up his messy blond hair. He’d tied an apron around his waist, an ancient pink polka-dot thing trimmed with red gingham, and he was barefoot.

Like the kids in Jurassic Park facing the velociraptors, Bev froze where she was, terrified of being seen but mesmerized. She drank in the sight of his broad back framed in domestic bliss for a moment, then tip-toed backwards back to the bedroom, not breathing, as though disaster would strike if he saw her.

She closed and locked the door, letting out her breath in a whoosh. He was barefoot. Wearing an apron. In her kitchen.

It’s true what they said about porn: you know it when you see it.

Grateful the mug was still chilled, she lifted it to her forehead and counted to ten. Her heart raced—not from happiness, but from panic.

She burned for him. Well, of course she did. Every woman would. But she had worked hard not to be every woman. Falling for a handsome face with muscles and vigor and cardiovascular superiority inspired women to shave their bikini lines and stop eating and forget themselves. He was the sort of guy Bev had vowed to never, ever want for herself. Again.

“Bev? You getting ready?”

She would have to keep the door locked until he left. If she opened it and saw him again she might show him how thankful she was he spent the night. With her mouth.

“Just getting dressed! Don’t come in!”

He didn’t answer so she thought he’d left until she heard his voice close at the door. “Pass me the glass so I can wash it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it.”

He rattled the doorknob. “I promise I won’t peek.”

Her heart skipped and she went over to the mug, reaching out with an unsteady hand. “All right.” She saw her hand pick up the mug and carry it over to the door. She watched her other hand turn the knob to pop the lock. His long fingers appeared in the opening, outstretched at chest level, and she imagined bumping into them to see what he would do.

She pushed the mug into his hand. “Thanks for making me breakfast.”

His fingers brushed against hers as he wrapped them around the mug. She tensed, imagining she heard his breathing on the other side of the door until he finally said, “You’re welcome,” and drew back. “I’ll make you another one some time.” He returned to the kitchen.

Bev sat back down on the bed until her head cleared. He didn’t mean to imply anything. She was like a lonely eighth grader misinterpreting the cute boy’s smile. Always overreacting.

After taking a quick, cold shower and putting on her favorite jeans and an old sweatshirt, Bev was ready to face him again. He stood out on the front deck, balancing his smoothie on the railing and gazing out over the bay.

“I’d ask my brother for a ride,” he said, “but he’s still asleep.”

“No problem. Ready to go?”

He drained the rest of his drink and walked into the house. “When will your sister get here?”

She followed after, locking the sliding door behind them and sliding down a security bar. “Before dark, I’m sure.”

“Lock all the windows too.”

“I did.”

“And the automatic garage door?”

“I’ll be fine. I checked everything a million times last night, the first time you left.”

He frowned down at her. “I shouldn’t have left at all.” How could she ever have thought his eyes were cold? They were too richly brown, the lashes too thick, the expression full of feeling—

“Let’s go.” She strode ahead of him. “I want time to get ready for my sister. Maybe buy some protein.” She had to wait for him out at the car while he rechecked all the locks and even strode down the hill to rattle the side door and tap on windows.

“Is your sister soft and weak like you?” he asked, getting into the car next to her.

“She could kick your ass.”

He grinned. “Look anything like you? I’d like to see that.”

Jealous but polite, she backed up and pulled out into the hilly street. “She’s very L.A.—blond and perfect. Kind of like you, but with more toned arms.”

“More toned, huh?”

The car snaked its way down to the flat streets of the city while Bev kept her eyes on the road, secretly hoping he’d strip off his shirt to prove her wrong. But he just sighed and leaned back in the seat, saying nothing until several minutes had gone by and they were driving through the gourmet ghetto of Rockridge. “BART is near the freeway entrance, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, but—hold on. Right up there’s an empty spot. Take it.”

“Can’t I just drop you off?”

“Slow down!” He pointed at the tiny stretch of visible curb ahead. “Pull over.”

She braked. “You sure? Why?”

“Here.”

Making the cars behind wait, Bev signaled and carefully backed up into the small spot, her arm stretched out along the back of Liam’s seat while she craned around to look behind. When she turned around, her fingers brushed the back of his neck. She swallowed. “You can walk from here?”