At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(39)

Her slender body shimmies in place. The most half-assed victory dance to ever exist.

“That’s the best you got?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

“She has a scuba diving move she loves,” Jonas adds. “It’s really stupid.”

I don’t know what the boundaries are when it comes to disciplining this kid. On the ranch, I can tell him to stop being a piece of shit. But this is a gray area.

Regardless, I can’t bite my tongue fast enough. “Don’t call your mom stupid.”

“I said her dance move is—”

“Don’t finish that sentence. It’s all the same shit. Don’t do it. Capisce?”

He blinks at me. “What?”

“You understand?”

Clearly still confused, he simply nods and reaches for his pop, avoiding eye contact with me. Which is fine, because I’m immediately searching Whit’s face for a sign that I didn’t cross a line just now.

“Okay, let me show you my very cool scuba diving move.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, then plugs her nose in one hand and wiggles in a way that I guess is supposed to mimic swimming. I’ve never been diving, so what do I know?

Besides, it’s fucking adorable.

There’s never been a better time to bust out my pretend fishing rod. I cast it right at Whit, and she plays into it, hopping across the floor until she’s the closest she’s ever been, and her body language is begging me to make the space smaller. When the area rug folds over on itself under her feet, she frantically reaches out to steady herself, dainty fingers tight around my bicep. I knew she was tall, but having her so close, I realize how easy it would be to bend ever-so-slightly and kiss her lips. Forehead. Nose. All of it is right there, ripe for the taking.

“Oops, nearly fell right off the hook there,” she says, a laugh drawn up through her eyes.

Maybe she did, but I won’t. She’s got me—hook, line, and sinker.

“Better scoop you up in the net before you’re the one that got away, eh?”

“The one you tell all your buddies about?”

“The tale of all tales. I’ll be sitting around telling my grandkids about it one day.”

I can’t help but notice her hand hasn’t left its spot on my arm. Each second is marked by bass in an instrumental song, and the beat somehow draws her closer to me. She moves like water, swaying and bending, leaving me no choice but to wonder how her body might curve around mine.

Her eyes flicker to my lips. For one breathless moment, I think she might go for it.

“You guys are weird.” Jonas tosses a handful of candy into his mouth. “We need a rematch so I can kick your butt and never see the scuba diving move again.”

Before she pulls away, Whit’s fingernails skate down the length of my arm. They might as well have been dipped in poison, the way my skin burns and my heart nearly stops.

“Please. I’ll be doing it at your wedding one day.” Joining him on the couch, she leans forward with her elbows resting on her thighs. With the flip of a switch, she’s right back into gamer mode. “Maybe even at your funeral tonight. We’ll see how this next race goes.”

Just as I was starting to find Whit’s mossy-green stare more intriguing than intimidating to me, this competitive streak showed up out of nowhere. And an hour later, when a frustrated Jonas demands their sixth rematch of the night—despite his mom mopping the floor with him every time—I find myself shaking my head at her, practically begging for mercy on his behalf. She might make the kid cry.

“Not tonight, kiddo,” she says. “You should head to bed. It’s late.”

His shoulders fall, an instant pout appearing on his weary face. If the bags under his eyes are any indication, he’s mere minutes from falling asleep.

“Yeah, I should head out,” I say, hoping it’ll help push him to listen to his mom. “It’s way past my bedtime. I think you and I need to practice so we can kick Whittaker from the leaderboard, though.”

Jonas yawns, hauling himself from the couch with a groan. “Yeah. We should team up next time.”

After ensuring Betty receives bedtime scratches behind her ear, he starts up the stairs to his room, dragging ass.

“Night, dude,” I call after him.

A moment later his bedroom door shuts, and I find myself alone with Whit—a position I’ve been dying to be in.

“Thanks for having me over tonight.”

“Jonas loves hanging out with you.”

A question of whether she enjoys it weighs on my mind.

“He’s a really cool kid. Although, having seen your enamel pin collection and your dance moves, I guess it should come as no surprise that he’s so great.”

She fiddles with the frayed hem of her shorts.

“I should clean up and get to bed.” Her eyes land on mine for half a heartbeat, and they’re hazy.

My heart writhes and twists in my chest. Whit tucks whatever it is she’s feeling behind the false wall of a half-hearted smile, moving to clean the candy and pizza shrapnel littering the coffee table.

“Let me help you.” I grab a handful of candy wrappers and follow her into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it. You have a long drive home. I can deal with this mess.” She shies away from my proximity, taking the long way around the far end of the island to get back to the living room. Our shared looks were full of longing all night, and now that we don’t have a kid interrupting any attempts at flirtation, she’s refusing to look at me. Talk about whiplash.