Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) by Reinhardt, Liz (knowledgeable books to read TXT) 📕

to women the way you just talked to me." She points at me with the paintbrush. "You know what's really hysterical? That day in court, it was your good manners that made me like you."

I can instantly tell she regrets going that far by the way she bites her bottom lip and darts her eyes to the side.

"I'm to the point, and I'm not gonna apologize for telling you the truth, especially when it affects how long I'll be in this hell hole. By the way, I have very good manners. But I only use them when I need them."

I pick up the roller and nonchalantly walk her way. She backs up one step, two. "And I only need them around people who earn them, not snotty spoiled brats who expect everyone to worship at their thrones."

She holds her small hands up and her scowl deepens.

"Don't. You. Dare."

Her eyes flip to the roller in my hand, and she turns to run the few feet she can away from me. I take aim and smack the roller right against the sexy curve of her ass, leaving the entire seat coated in baby blue paint.

She whirls on one heel, eyes ethanol-flame blue, and I expect more paint flicked my way, but she smiles at me instead.

"Thank you, Winchester. You're right. I do need to cut in closer to the ceiling."

I nod and back up, finally sensing the presence of someone else in the doorway. I'm pissed I was so preoccupied with her, I didn't keep my guard up.

"What's going on in here?" The female officer who checked us in narrows her eyes at me. "Everything okay?"

She directs the question right at Evan, and she doesn't care if I catch her implication...which is 'is he messing with you?'

I can guess exactly how much those designer jeans I just ruined cost, and I'm getting ready to have my ass thrown under a speeding bus all because I let myself act like an idiot. Not that I don't deserve it. Just because I have a thing for her I don't want to own up to, doesn't mean I have to provoke her like I did. But that's the thing: this girl makes me lose control, and losing control isn't an option.

"Everything is fine." Her smile is bright and toothy, the kind of smile that commercial producers would kill for. That smile could sell huge amounts of shampoo or toothpaste or cans of lentil soup; it's that hot.

When the officer looks directly at the paint on her ass, Evan giggles. "I sat in paint. I'm such a klutz. Luckily Winchester has been helping me out, so I'm not making a total mess of things."

There's a long couple of seconds when I'm sure the officer is going to call our bluff, and I'll have Kevon chewing me a new one for causing shit on my first day on site, but it doesn't happen.

"I'll be back to check on you two." The officer gives a jerky nod, then leaves us alone.

I pick up the roller, and, for a few minutes, there's just the sound of her brush sliding across the wall and my roller clattering as I make giant W’s.

She didn't have to cover for me.

The music blares, and some lame summer dance song comes on. I glance over my shoulder, and she's swaying her hips from side to side, bopping her head to the tune, just chilling when she could have been pouting in a royal little temper tantrum.

"Evan?"

She stops rocking her hips at the sound of my voice and turns slowly, her face gorgeous, but clear of any emotion at all. I miss the glow she got when she was about to lose it.

"I, uh, want to apologize. I lost my temper. I shouldn't have talked to you like that. I deserved to get hit with paint. And I deserved to have you throw me to the wolves. I have no idea why you didn't, but thank you. I know you don't want more trouble. And I should be thinking the same way." The words choke and sputter out.

The corner of her mouth lifts in the tiniest trace of a smile. "I've got a pretty shitty temper myself. Don't worry about it. We gotta get through this, and I know you just want this room painted and it looks like crap, but I'm doing my best."

She shrugs her shoulder and one sleeve of her t-shirt slides down. Her shoulder is tan. Her bra strap is red. And I stop my brain from going too wild imagining what she'd look like if I peeled that shirt off, unhooked the bra and let it slide down off of her arms.

"Winchester?"

The sound of my name pops me out of my dirty daydream.

"Winch," I say and stick my hand out. "We've never really introduced ourselves, right? Everyone calls me Winch."

She nods and smiles, then grabs my hand and gives me a handshake that would make any hardcore CEO proud.

"Evan. Nice to meet you."

I don't want to let go of her hand. It feels tiny in mine, and the skin is ridiculously soft. I'm dying to know what those hands would feel like in places I better stop thinking about if I'm going to make it a few more hours with her.

And suddenly I realize the full extent of how stupid I acted. Because I never managed to just keep my damn cool, I went from kind of hitting on her to being a total tool. And now we're at some kind of shaky friend level when the only thing I needed to do was keep things distant.

So much for that plan.

"Winchester." I love the sound of my name from her mouth. "I've never met anyone with Winchester as a first name."

She perches her fine painted ass on the ladder and slides the paint brush along the edge of the ceiling with careful, even strokes.

"My grandparents made their money in illegal arms dealing." I finish the wall I've been working