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“So, what aspects of your work are fun?"
He didn't hesitate. "The boats. We make boats and send them to sea; watching them sail is amazing."
His eyes carried a faraway look, and I wished I could see what he did. I didn't realize I'd said as much out loud until Shawn waved me over.
“Oh, come here. Come see.” He patted the couch beside him while taking out his phone.
I wrestled with myself for five seconds. Shawn wanted me next to him. Just to look at photos. No big deal. Purity of thought in place, I hopped off my spot and sat on the couch beside him.
I was close enough to smell his heady scent, feel the warmth of his skin, and see the soft hairs at his nape, but I carefully avoided touching him.
“Oh, here. Look,” Shawn said.
My plan not to touch him failed quickly because once Shawn leaned closer, my legs pressed against his, and his hard upper body rubbed against my much softer one. I could hardly focus on what he showed me. I couldn’t think, all I could do is feel him next to me. God, he was so big and warm.
Stop being silly, Violet. Concentrate.
Eventually, I shoved away my nonsensical thoughts and focused on the pictures he flipped through. As I did, I finally could fixate less on our bodies and more on the boats his company built. Varied sizes and varied types. All out on the water, professionally photographed. The angles of the sails, the sunshine bouncing off the sides of the boats and reflecting in the water. It was so lovely; all I could do was say ‘wow’ over and over.
“This is the first of its kind.” He stopped at an oddly shaped contraption.
I didn't know much about boats, but I'd never seen this type before.
“It's...”
“Say it,” he said.
I stared at the boat. "Interesting."
“You wanted to say ‘weird,’ didn't you?” he accused.
“No, I didn’t.” I turned to face him and had to suck in a breath. He was so damn close, his face mere inches from mine.
His lip ticked up. “Gotcha.”
Despite the dizziness I felt, I laughed. “Don't do that. I genuinely thought you were mad.”
He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I'm not. Amoeba is a pet project. No one's going to buy her.”
"What did you call it?" He told me they named most of the boats, and this one was no different. But the moniker had me questioning him.
“Amoeba.”
I laughed, doubling over. "Who chose that?" I glanced at the boat, and the name fit too well.
“I did.” A small smile tilted his lips.
“What? Why?” I wiped my eyes. “Okay, now I see how your work can be fun.” I turned to him. “You guys probably—”
Suddenly, Shawn closed in on me and his soft lips pressed against mine. All humor drained from my system, replaced by shock, then a need so acute I was breathless.
Shawn-freaking-Hart is kissing me!
Chapter8
Shawn
What am I doing?
