Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I’ve thinned some carrots, and now I’m showing the guys how to weed the kale in the big metal planter in the center of the rooftop garden. Gardening is much safer than talking about dogs or the fact that I can’t keep my eyes to myself. “My grandma loves to garden. She taught me everything I know. And she won gardening prizes.”
“Mine taught me to sail. Not quite as useful,” Stefan says dryly.
Hayes laughs. “Dude, that’s so bougie.”
“Yes, that’s my grandparents for you,” he says to Hayes. “Not everyone’s grandparents teach them how to pitch a tent or build a campfire.”
“Did they teach you to play polo too?” his friend asks.
“I feel like there’s no good answer to that,” Stefan says.
I smile, relieved that their banter dispels some of the tension. “You harvest the leaves from the bottom of the plant,” I explain, running my finger across a leaf. “Like this.”
The sexy new guy on the team moves next to me. “Got it,” he says as he reaches for a leaf.
Hayes is so close I can smell his woodsy soap, mixed with sweat. The scent drifts into my nose and fills my head, lighting up my senses.
“Did you just work out?” I ask, distracted. Then his scent mingles with the equally alluring smell of clean sheets and powdery snow as Stefan steps closer, reaching for a leaf too.
“We went for a run a little while ago,” Hayes answers, and I picture the two of them pounding the pavement, looking strong and virile. I stifle a whimper.
“And we’re hitting the gym after this,” Stefan adds in a casual tone, but one that lingers at the end, like he’s inviting me to picture them at the gym.
And I do picture them. Pumping iron. Doing push-ups. Lifting weights. Unfair, brain.
I focus on the kale, tugging gently on the leaf. “You don’t want to damage the bud in the center, so you snap from the bottom,” I say as I pluck off a leaf.
“Does that hurt the plant?” Stefan asks, running his fingers along the stem like he’s concerned for it, but he does it in such a slow, sensual way that I’m concerned for my panties.
“No. The kale likes it,” I rasp, then I shake my head quickly. “I mean, the plant is fine.” Focus, girl. I reach for a leaf to demonstrate. “You pull it down and out.”
Stefan reaches for a plant next to me, his smoky voice next to my ear as he repeats, “Down and out.”
It’s not the words but his tone that sets my skin to scorching.
It’s the warmth of the weather.
It’s the mix of masculine scents, each unique, each intoxicating.
I’m not sure I can handle being so close to them when I want to put my hands on one, then the other. When I want to lean back against Stefan’s chest and let Hayes stalk over to me. I’ve never thought this before. Never pictured anything like it. Now I can’t stop, and it’s driving me batty.
I flap a hand at the kale on the other side of the planter with urgency. “You guys should do the ones over there,” I say, giving an order they’d better follow.
My amateur gardeners comply, moving to the other side. Good. I have some breathing room. I won’t be subjected to their pheromones making me…feral.
I focus on weeding, getting into the rhythm of gardening, feeling like I can survive this newfound attraction. When I look up several minutes later, Hayes is pulling a leaf, but his eyes are on me, and they’re heated. His lips curve up. “You looked like you had fun on your first night as a mascot.” There’s a beat, then he adds, “Riling up the crowds.” There’s a touch of innuendo in his tone. But I can’t go there.
“I tried. I was a cheerleader in high school.” This is a safer topic. Easier.
Hayes tilts his head. “You?”
“A cheerleader?” Stefan seems surprised too.
“Yes. Me. A cheerleader.”
Hayes lifts a dubious brow. “You don’t give off cheerleader vibes.”
I raise my chin, a little defiant, taking back control from them. “I contain multitudes, gentlemen.”
Hayes turns to Stefan, faux confused. “Gentlemen? Who’s she talking about?”
Stefan holds his hands up in surrender. “No idea. Not me.”
“Definitely not me either,” Hayes says.
Whew. Things lighten up as they banter. We return to gardening, and Hayes looks me over once more. “You give off indie girl vibes.”
“Explain.”
“You seem…more punk rock. Like a girl who wears motorcycle boots and a black leather jacket. A girl who probably once dyed her hair pink. A girl who has a…” His gaze drifts down my chest.
Oh. Oh god.
He’s staring at my tits, and I swear I can see the thought bubble over his head—Do you have a nipple piercing?
But you know what? I think I’ll keep that intel close to the vest. “That’s classified, boys,” I say, like I’m playing an ace.