“Wasn’t exactly the plan,” he says, holding the coffee out again. “Tricky drop zone. Wind shifted.”
I give the cup a single glance and then a long, pointed stare. “You think coffee is going to fix my car? My purse? My clothes?”
“No,” he says, his voice ringing with amusement. “But it might improve your mood.”
My jaw drops slightly. The nerve.
“I’m sorry, did you just say—”
“Name’s Jake, by the way,” he cuts in smoothly. “Jake Pearson.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I ask with a stinky glare.
His grin widens. “No. But you’ll remember it.”
I let out a sharp laugh, partly in disbelief. “Oh, I’ll remember it, alright. You’re the guy who turned my peaceful day off into a soggy disaster.”
Jake just stands there, completely unbothered, looking like a walking fire hazard with that square jaw and the way his arms flex every time he shifts. He finally sets the coffee down on the dresser and turns to face me fully.
“You always this fired up?” he asks, voice low and teasing. “Or is it just me?”
I narrow my eyes. “Do you usually drop your water buckets with that much enthusiasm, or is it just me?”
His gaze flicks down briefly to my damp tank top, still clinging in places it shouldn’t, and then back to my face, eyes glinting with something dark. Something that sends tingles shooting through my body.
“I’m sorry.”
Oh, he looks anything but sorry.
Definitely not sorry.
I shiver slightly, maybe from the cold creeping in, or from the intensity in his striking blue eyes. He’s just standing there, looking at me like I’m some spark he wouldn’t mind letting catch fire.
Snap out of it, Ruby!
“You don’t seem sorry,” I accuse with an exasperated sigh. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”
“Oh, I am,” he says, finally ditching the smirk for something…mellow. “Just maybe not in the way you think.”
That heat in his eyes? It’s not polite. It’s not apologetic. It’s flaming with interest. Bold, unapologetic, masculine interest that feels like a hand wrapping around my throat from across the room.
I try to rally. “You know, I was going to report this. File a complaint. Raise hell.”
He steps closer. Just one step, but it’s enough to remind me how much bigger he is. How the air feels tighter when he’s in it.
“You still can,” he says. “But first, maybe take the coffee. Hear the apology. Then decide if you still want to fight me.”
The audacity.
But also…the challenge in his voice makes my stomach twist in a not-unpleasant way.
I square my shoulders. “Oh, I can multitask.”
Jake laughs. It’s a low, gravelly sound that does unspeakable things to my pulse.
“Something tells me you can,” he murmurs.
And damn it, I can’t decide if I want to slap him or kiss him.
