Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(29)

“You still put him before yourself. That’s a selfless act.”

“I needed to be needed, at least by someone.” I wave the metal spatula around, not sure if I should be embarrassed that I’m sharing my sob story with a man I find hopelessly attractive, who might only be listening to me ramble because he likes my muffins. Still, I keep talking. “Anyway, while all that was happening, my dad went for grief counseling and met Danielle, his girlfriend. He absolutely deserves to be happy, and that’s what she makes him. But last week when she moved in, I saw that everything I’ve been doing—working for the same company as my dad, as his assistant, living in the house with him—none of it was for me. I don’t even know what I like, or what I’m good at, or if there are things I’d like to be good at that I’m not.”

“You’re good at a lot of things as far as I can tell.” Aaron motions to the loft.

“I’m good at talking, that’s for sure.” Filling people’s ears with my nonsense is one thing I excel at. “Anyway, I need to figure out what I want because I honestly have no idea, so here I am.”

I force a bright smile and look up.

I don’t expect Aaron to be right beside me, his storm cloud eyes fixed on me. And for once he’s not looking at me with annoyance or pity.

“That’s my story.” I focus on filling holes again.

“It’s quite the story.”

“Everyone has one.”

“This is true.” He’s quiet for a moment before he continues. “And I mean it, Teagan: I think you’re probably good at more things than you know. You already know you can fill holes like a pro.”

I give him the side-eye and roll my eyes at his grin. “I’ve heard that’s your specialty.”

“Is that right? Already jumping on the small-town-gossip train?” He’s still smiling, but there’s an edge to his tone.

“You flirt with literally everyone,” I point out.

“That doesn’t mean I sleep with everyone.”

“Just the ladies whose lawns you mow?” I know I’ve taken it a step too far when his expression shutters.

“You don’t know shit about me, Teagan.”

“I didn’t before, but I do now.” I don’t know why I’m needling him like this. It’s obvious I’ve hit a nerve. But I feel like I’m finally figuring him out, and I like the reaction I’m getting.

“And what exactly do you think you know?” He pushes to a stand, and his abs, all eleven million of them, ripple as he rolls his shoulders back and glares down at me.

“That you don’t like the reputation you seem to have earned.” I push to my feet too. “I also know that you flirt with everyone except me. Why is that, Aaron? Why are you only nice when I have something you want? What’s so off-putting about me?”

“That’s not true. What’s off-putting are rumors and gossip. I hadn’t pegged you for someone who fed into that garbage, especially with your history.” He starts toward the door, so I jump in front of him, blocking his way. Which is essentially pointless since there are two doors to choose from.

“I was kidding about the lawn mowing. I didn’t realize you were going to take such offense to it. And less than a minute ago you basically agreed with me about you flirting with everyone. Why are you so angry all of a sudden?”

“I’m not angry.” He tries to step around me again, but I’m right in his face.

“Yes you are! Your face is beet red, and your nostrils are flaring, and your hands are balled into fists.” I tap one of them with my finger, then fling my own in the air. “I was trying to flirt with you, and now you’re pissed off!”

“By referencing all the ‘lawns’ I’ve mowed.” He unfurls his fists and makes air quotes around the word lawns, then crosses his arms. “That’s your version of flirting?” he asks incredulously.

“Okay,” I concede. “That probably wasn’t my best attempt, but you fluster me! And I can’t get a read on you. One second you’re nice and complimentary, and the next you’re angry. What is the deal?”

His jaw cracks. “What are you going to do? Hold me hostage until you get the answer you want?”

“If I have to, yes.”

“Why can’t you let it go?”

“Not my style.” Actually, it’s totally my style. Or it was. But something about Aaron makes me want to push buttons and figure him out. Especially with how up and down and all over the place he is with me.

“You’re not the way I thought you’d be,” he snaps.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You show up here with a freaking metallic-pink zebra-print suitcase—”

“It’s cheetah print.”

His eyebrow rises. “Excuse me, a metallic-pink cheetah-print suitcase, looking like you stepped off the goddamn runway, all wounded bird—”

“Wounded bird?” I hate that it took him all of ten seconds to pick that up about me. Troy always told me I wore my emotions on my sleeve. I didn’t want him to be right, but maybe he is.

“You were on the verge of tears,” he points out.

“You practically bit my head off two seconds after I walked in the damn door!” I fling a hand toward said door.