Page 39 of That Conflicted Feeling

Heplays with the corner of the shoebox, like a small boy who knows he was in the wrong but doesn’t know what to say.NotsomethingI’dexpect from the confident, swaggery, owner of a billion-dollar corporation.

Wepass in front of the council building where, at some point in the not-too-distant future, a vote will seal my fate.

I’mstill going a bit too fast asIswing the van left ontoTheSpringsB&B’sstreet.Maxslams into the passenger door with a “Fuck.”

Isqueeze my thighs together to try to shut up what’s going on between them and throw him a sideways look. “Thoughtyou were holding on.”

Ipull up outside the bright pink door and yank on the hand brake. “Herewe are.Thereyou go.”

Hemakes no move to get out.

“So, you’re holding up a giant mirror to me, right?” he says. “Tryingto make me see the money-grabbing, community-destroying monster staring back at me.”

Ipoint at his chest and accidentally brush his jacket with my finger. “Amoney-grabbing community-destroying monster, with a goat pee stain on his shirt.”

Hechuckles and half closes his eyes. “You’regreat.”

Oh, no.Notflattery.Iwill not fall for empty flattery.

Maxneeds to get out now, soIcan go deal with real life.Withrunning a bath forMomto ease her aching joints, and with making our dinner.

“Actually, no,” he says through a wide smile as he pokes me in the thigh. “You’reterrible.”

Ajolt of electricity sparks through my body from the spot where he touched me.

Flirtypoking?He’sdoing flirty poking.

Flushedwith heat,Iinstinctively poke him back, right in the pee stain. “I’mnot.Youare.”

Christ,I’mflirting back, like an awkward teenager.But, holy hell, that pec is as firm as the new season turnips.Ibarely make a dent.

He’svirtually facing me now, holding the shoebox over whatever crotch business was hiding behind my mom’s bathrobe a little while ago.Heruns his tongue along the top row of those perfectly crafted white teeth and locks eyes with me under raised brows.

“YouthoughtIwas going to kiss you, didn’t you?”

Oh,Jesus.Myinsides curl in on themselves.Theembarrassment is crushing.

Iturn away and look out of the side window. “No.When?No.Ofcourse not.”Ifocus with all my might onMrs.Lovewell’slace curtains. “Ihave to go.”

Hedoesn’t even try to hide his snicker. “Youtotally did.”

Ishake my head, even though he can see only the back of it.

“Andyou wanted me to,” he adds.Thenew husky tone in his voice lights an extremely unwanted fire between my legs.

Butthere’s also a self-satisfied smile in his voice that’s beyond annoying.Ipoint at the bright pink front door.Myface must be almost the same color. “Don’tyou need to go get changed, or be flirted at byMrs.Lovewell, or something?”

“Iprefer the way you’re flirting with me.”

Ispin around in my seat as fast asIcan while being strapped in by a seatbelt. “Oh, myGod.What’swrong with you?I’mnot flirting.WhywouldIever flirt with someone who’s trying to destroy my life?”

“Idon’t know.Butyou’ve been doing it since you fell at my feet outside your shop.”

Itwiddle a loose thread dangling from my polka dot steering wheel cover between my fingers. “Ididn’t fall at your feet.Youstood next to meafterI’dfallen.”

Hetakes my thread-twiddling hand in his.

Myinsides unfurl, my heart races, my belly flutters, andIdon’t even know what you’d call the thing my lady fig is doing.Butall of it is completely unacceptable.