Spring Fling (Dating Season Book 1) by Laurelin Paige (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📕

So really, I’ve made an awful lot of concessions to his vibe. He can give me this. The whole reason I wanted to stay in was because his gym overworked my body.

“Well, I haven’t been home all day. I had tea with June.”

To remind myself of the chemistry between us, I step between his legs and press my lips to his. The spark flares immediately. Maybe I shouldn’t complain about his regimen. At the competition, I discovered he wasn’t even close to being the craziest SuperFit guy. Shocking as it is to consider, some people are much weirder, obsessive, and bizarrely even more muscular.

He squeezes my ass. “Okay, we’ll stay in,” he says.

“I’m going to open new worlds for you tonight,” I promise.

After all, he really has shown me things too—working out is horrendous, but all my lower back pain from hunching over the potter’s wheel is gone. I might not eat pasta with him, but who knew Japanese food was so good?

Streaming shows are universal. We can enjoy this. It’s all about compromise, according to the relationship experts.

“Get comfy,” I tell him. “It’s good to relax.”

He picks my favorite spot on the right end of the sofa, but that’s okay. I’m flexible. I dim the lights and settle beside him with my legs stretched, feet propped on the coffee table. It’s cozy with his arm draped along the back of the couch. If I laser focus on the television, his hand tapping the cushion doesn’t bother me at all.

Ten minutes in, when Jack is taking a row on the Potomac, Finn rises from the couch. “All that water is making me thirsty. Mind if I get something to drink?”

I hit pause. “I’ll grab you one. There’s Vitamin Water in the fridge.” That’s another thing. My refrigerator is now stocked with healthy items. So again, he can give me this.

“No, you stay there.” He beelines into the kitchen.

When he returns, I press play, and he remains standing, guzzling water, pacing like a lion trapped in a cage.

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” Finally, he resumes his seat, and Jack, the stoic hero, is back in suspenseful action.

“Come on, man,” he says to the TV. “You know he’s the bad guy.”

This type of commentary continues through the first half. Finn’s not only a talker during TV-watching, he’s a doer. He heads back to the kitchen. I pause again.

“Just grabbing more water,” he calls out. “You could have let it play.”

“You would have missed the clue.” As have I. I’m sure if I could hear what they were saying, I’d know what was going on.

“I’m not a spy-thriller guy,” he says. “But if you like it, we can watch it.”

“I’m not into it either.” The whole point is to find something we both enjoy doing. “What do you like to watch?’’

“I don’t watch a lot of TV.” He sits. “When I do, it’s more real-life action stuff that doesn’t follow a script. Bear Grylls. American Ninja Warrior. Ever seen Floor Is Lava?”

“Nope.”

I offer him the remote and Jack disappears from the screen. He’s replaced by a game show that involves teams of three making it through a wonky house to challenge their strength and endurance.

“The floor isn’t actually lava,” he says.

“Don’t spoil it,” I joke, but then immediately regret. He might actually think I believe the producers could somehow transport molten lava into the studio.

He kisses the tip of my nose. “Sorry.”

As the contestants leap and travel across the basement, Finn shouts animated play-by-play like an announcer. It’s giving me flashbacks to the gym. In episode four, they attempt to swing through a booby-trapped kitchen on steroids.

“Think you could make it through that?” Finn asks. “We could try out for it.”

My eye twitches. “Well, we’d need a third person.”

“Maybe Austin. He seems like he’d be a good competitor,” Finn says.

His phone chimes, saving me from responding. And really, I don’t have one.

He types away for a few minutes and then says, “My buddy knows a guy who has a place available, if I want to take a look at it. Says it’s a hot property that’ll go fast.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

“Want to come with me? Give the feminine perspective.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

This is technically not going out. It’s a spontaneous house hunt, so he doesn’t end up with Austin. And there’s always the chance it will give me some ideas on areas for my own move. So far, repeated searches have returned nothing within my meager price range. Lucky for me, June hasn’t had any interested buyers yet, but that could change at any moment.

We drive east, about fifteen minutes outside of Boulder, to a secluded community with a perfect view of the Flatirons. The GPS leads us down a tree-lined road to an expanse of land surrounding a miniature wood house with a tall glass front.

I lean toward the windshield and gawk at the structure illuminated by the truck’s headlights. “It’s a tiny house.”

“No way,” he says. “I’m not paying three thousand a month for a dollhouse.”

“Three thousand?” I shriek.

“Yeah. Mike said it’s an engineer who owns it. It’s actually a vacation rental, but they’ll do a long-term lease.”

“Well, we should at least check it out? They can be spacious inside.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

We exit and follow the lighted pathway to a cozy covered porch. Finn stoops and retrieves a key concealed beneath a planter beside the front door. Inside, he flips on the lights and I’m in awe. It’s beautiful. But incredibly small. The camera angles must make them appear larger. Even with the high ceilings and glass wall, Finn dwarfs the interior.

“Yeah, not happening,” he says, scanning the probably seven hundred square feet.

I scoot around him to explore.

“It’s so fascinating how they find hidden storage for all the things that you need.” I turn a handle on the wall and a dining table comes down. “See. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Babydoll, this is amazing. If you’re a munchkin.”

Ugh. There’s no denying the lack of livable space, but he needs to be flexible enough to love this place. I