“I might be.” He chuckled, and my skin rippled in goosebumps. Damn, he had a sexy… everything. Don’t think about the sexy part! That way lay danger.
“Stop it.” I admonished and went back to stacking chairs.
“Would that be so bad?” He stacked one of the chairs and turned to me.
“It depends on whether you’re a serial killer or not. Remember that I don’t know this information. Maybe you are, and maybe you aren’t. I’d need proof.” I was going to go to hell for flirting, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“Proof that a serial killer would go to any lengths to hide? I don’t see how that’s possible. I mean, I don’t have a record.” He picked up another chair and added it to the stack.
“Neither would a successful serial killer.” I was totally sliding right back to that thirteen-year-old boy with a first crush.
“Ok, this is starting to get really creepy. I am not, nor have I ever been, a serial killer.” He chuckled again, and my fucking skin tingled. The hair on my arms stood straight up.
“Well, stalking is just a skip and a jump from slicing and dicing.”
“I was having dinner over at the Blue Star and saw you walking in here with a bunch of other people. Are you a cult leader?” He asked quickly. “I might need proof before I decide to continue stalking you or not. Maybe I’ll join?”
“Oh, we don’t accept himbos into our ranks. It gets too messy. You’re all attention whores. No one can join who might take away devotion from the cult leader.”
“No one could ever take attention away from you. I don’t think you know how people see you. You’re too pretty for your own good.”
My heart raced. “No himbos.”
“Things change. Maybe I don’t see myself as a himbo?” He crossed his arms quickly and his biceps and chest both flexed to the point I almost hyperventilated.
“It does not matter what you think,” I laughed way too loudly as I stacked another chair. “You are and always will be a himbo by definition. Your shirt looks like it's been painted on.”
“I work hard,” he said proudly. Another flex almost dropped me to my knees.
“You always did.” I whispered.
“What’s the point of having muscles if you're not gonna show them off?” He literally popped his arm in front of me, and his bicep was close enough for me to kiss. I stepped back.
“Oh, they are easy to see.”
“I’m glad you noticed.” That fucking grin of his was so kissable it was maddening. Why was this happening to me right now? I turned around and slowly picked up a chair, just trying to screw my head back on straight. “I chose this shirt today because I remember how much you liked blue. You used to love to lay down on the ground and look up at the sky.”
“You remember that?” I slowly turned back to him and looked into his eyes.
“Dude, I remember everything. Don’t you?” He took a small step towards me, and I almost dropped the chair. He reached out and steadied it. I could feel his breath on my face.
“I… uh… Yeah. I do.” I stepped away and walked over to the large stack of chairs.
“I wonder if your skin still feels as hot as it did back then?”
I dropped the last chair and stepped back as his words took me completely out of myself. All I could do was stare at it lyingon the ground. I couldn’t glance over at him. If I did, I would be lost.
“Let me get that.” He bent down and looked up at me as he hefted it up with one arm – his bicep bulged as he set it on top of the others. “Last chair. Now, what are we going to do while we continue this flirtatious banter?”
“You can’t just… It’s not that easy.” I managed to finally say after a very awkward moment.
“It could be. Don’t you think?” He stepped forward.
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Maybe thinking is overrated.” Another step.
“Then how would we function?” He was so close I could…
