Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(63)
Especially when her jeans fit her so damn nicely.
Carter bounded after Liz. She was already unloading her purchases into the truck when he grabbed what remained in the cart and stowed it away. He held her door for her—a gesture he took for granted but which brought a fresh blush to her cheeks—and smiled to himself.
The air was clean and fresh, the rain clouds beginning to clear, and all Carter could think was how much he enjoyed watching Liz blush and how much he envied her an afternoon of industrious activity.
He pulled up to the traffic light, and tapped his toe as he waited for it to turn green. “So, would you mind if I stuck around to help paint?”
Liz blinked at him like he’d just offered to scrub the soap scum off her shower stall. “Oh, no. You don’t have to spend your Sunday—”
“Helping an old friend? Not a problem.”
She looked as if she wanted to protest further, but he flashed her a bright grin and asked how her father was doing. That distracted her long enough and soon they pulled into her drive.
She slipped from the cab and hurried to the front door. Carter followed more slowly, the paint cans a solid weight in his hands.
He balanced one on his knee as he waited for Liz to open the lock, enjoying the flex of muscle in his arm, the tension in his thigh. If anyone asked, he would have readily admitted he liked manual labor. The exertion, even the sweat. It felt good to put his mind and body toward one purpose. It helped him feel centered, calm almost.
As Grams always said, the right kind of activity kept him out of trouble.
“You really don’t have to—” Liz began again as he followed her through the door.
“I’m not charging you for it, Liz. I just want something to do with my hands.” Her eyes flashed to his, and suddenly he heard his words in a different light and wondered if he were keeping out of trouble or stepping into it. “I like to keep busy,” he said somewhat hoarsely, wishing he hadn’t been picturing something entirely different he might be doing with his hands.
“Of course,” she murmured, scurrying toward the kitchen. “Let’s get started then.”
He blew out a ragged breath and told his hands to behave themselves.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
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Twelve years earlier…
IT HAPPENED IN A BLUR. One minute Carter was grinding the half-smoked cigarette under his heel, the next minute he’d pinned Dan-the-Jerk-Jock-O’Connell against the wall in the Whitmeyers’ hallway, his fist at Dan’s throat.
“I don’t think so,” was all he’d said.
“What the f—?” Dan sputtered. “Lay off! What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Carter said, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like an electric current. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
He leaned closer, perversely enjoying the sheen of sweat beading on Dan’s brow. “Now, listen up,” he ground out, his voice lower and more gravelly than it had been in all of his seventeen years. “You’re not going in there. You’re not giving anyone an education. And you’re not ever going to breathe a word of this to anyone. Got it?”
Dan shook Carter off, but that’s only because Carter chose to let him go. “Christ,” Dan swore. “Are you f*cking high?” But, he backed away anyway, straightening his jacket and glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one had witnessed anything. “I don’t need this shit,” he said. “If you want her so bad, she’s all yours.”
Carter raised an eyebrow in reply.
“Asshole,” Dan muttered as he retreated down the hall.
Carter waited until Dan was gone before he exhaled. His body was humming, still throbbing with whatever emotion had made him act on animal instinct, because it sure as heck hadn’t been his brain. If he’d been using his brain, he wouldn’t have pinned the most popular jock in class against the wall and gone psycho on him.
There’d be no repercussions, though. There’d been no witnesses. Dan wasn’t stupid enough to admit he’d been bested by an outsider whose muscles didn’t come from lifting weights in the gym but from shoveling manure and throwing rocks around for his uncle’s landscaping business.
Carter glanced at the door in front of him.
She’s all yours.
Shit. He couldn’t just leave her there. How humiliating would that be? Beth wasn’t so bad. A little nervous maybe. A lot serious. But she had a sweet smile and she’d sat in that library week after week drilling him on trig until he thought he’d dream in parabolas. No, he couldn’t leave her there.
He swallowed. But, if he went in there now, he’d taste of beer and cigarettes for sure. She’d know it was him.
Rummaging through his coat pockets, he dug out a package of Twizzlers and crammed one into his mouth. It was better than nothing. He spotted a room deodorizer on the hallway table, rubbed it lightly on the outside of his coat to cover the smoke scent on his clothes and figured it was now or never.
Swallowing the last of the Twizzler, Carter took a breath… and snicked open the pantry door.
She stood in shadow, the light of an outdoor streetlight only half illuminating her. She had her hands clasped in front of her and her head held high, her lips in a faint smile as if amused by the situation.