honest as hell.
My hand shakes under his, and when he pulls away, I make a jerky lunge to the paint tray so I can inhale the chemical smell of the paint and push back these insane thoughts about this boy and me and sex so good it's making my knees knock just imagining it.
Winch 2
I need to get outta this damn room and away from this chick before I get both our asses in trouble.
But she asked me not to make a big deal about our assignment , and it's not like they wouldn't ask what the problem was. And then I'd have to tell them...what? That the girl they assigned me to work with is giving me a hard-on, and I want to take her on a date then get her naked in my backseat, but know damn well what a bad idea that would be?
So I kick the crackly old-as-dirt radio up a notch and paint like there's a gun to my temple and keeping the roller moving is the only way to still the trigger. The effort of staying away from her pumps so much adrenaline through me, I don't give a shit if she makes a total slop mess of her walls. I can repaint them, no problem, in a few minutes with all this excess energy.
And she is making a mess. I’m not annoyed.
I’m turned on, I’m desperate to be by her , and just as desperate to get away. So I snap a little, even though I don’t mean to.
"You're doing t he same thing as before, and now you’re dripping paint all over the place. Hey, why don't you try edging ? I'll do the rolling, okay?"
I point over to the paint bucket and smaller brushes, and she curls her lip at them in a frustrated grimace, showing the sharp, white points of her teeth.
"I don't think I'll be any better at edging." She puts the roller down and heads to pick up the can.
I try to ignore how perfect the curve of her ass is as she bends to pick up the can and brush. I want her. Bad. T he realization hits me like a fresh wave of paint fumes, making my head blur and spin.
But I have no business wanting this girl, and I'm well aware that I just can't have her, so I say what I need to say to give her a hard shove in the opposite direction from me before I make a huge mess when I know better.
I seriously know better .
"Well, there's no way you could possibly be worse ." I roll my eyes at her shitty job, even though I know she's working as hard as she can. I feel like an asshole, but I push through. "No doubt about that."
The sharp clatter of the brush fal ling to the floor whips me around. Her lips are all trembly , maybe like she's about to cry. I feel like a jackoff for being unnecessarily cold to her, but it's what I have to do. If I don't hold this girl at arm's length, I'll pull her so she's tight against my body, start kissing that sweet mouth, and won't be able to stop until we're both naked and panting.
No girl's made me think anything so out of control in a long time, and I roll faster to get this damn job done and get my ass as far away from the sugary smell of her as I possibly can.
I just hope she doesn't cry. I'm not good at handling tears from a girl.
But there are no tears.
"Fuck you."
The words are clear out of her mouth, and I realize now that the wobble on her lips is all about fury.
"Excuse me?"
Even if I have been a little bit of a dick, I'm not big on being told to fuck off by anyone, especially not girls who are born and bred thinking they're better than I am.
"Maybe you got paint in your ears?" she suggests, her voice as sugar-sharp as her smell, like candy just about to burn. "I told you to fuck off."
She pops one paint-flecked hand on her hip and gives me a pursed-lip, raised-eyebrow pissy face that pings my irritation.
I let out a short, hard laugh, but I know damn well my smile isn’t hiding the aggravation pumping through me .
"Look, I'm not one of your prep school tutors, alright? My job isn't to tell you how perfect every damn thing you do is. You suck at painting, and I get it. I'm sure it's hard to do physical labor when you're worried about keeping your nails and hair
My hand shakes under his, and when he pulls away, I make a jerky lunge to the paint tray so I can inhale the chemical smell of the paint and push back these insane thoughts about this boy and me and sex so good it's making my knees knock just imagining it.
Winch 2
I need to get outta this damn room and away from this chick before I get both our asses in trouble.
But she asked me not to make a big deal about our assignment , and it's not like they wouldn't ask what the problem was. And then I'd have to tell them...what? That the girl they assigned me to work with is giving me a hard-on, and I want to take her on a date then get her naked in my backseat, but know damn well what a bad idea that would be?
So I kick the crackly old-as-dirt radio up a notch and paint like there's a gun to my temple and keeping the roller moving is the only way to still the trigger. The effort of staying away from her pumps so much adrenaline through me, I don't give a shit if she makes a total slop mess of her walls. I can repaint them, no problem, in a few minutes with all this excess energy.
And she is making a mess. I’m not annoyed.
I’m turned on, I’m desperate to be by her , and just as desperate to get away. So I snap a little, even though I don’t mean to.
"You're doing t he same thing as before, and now you’re dripping paint all over the place. Hey, why don't you try edging ? I'll do the rolling, okay?"
I point over to the paint bucket and smaller brushes, and she curls her lip at them in a frustrated grimace, showing the sharp, white points of her teeth.
"I don't think I'll be any better at edging." She puts the roller down and heads to pick up the can.
I try to ignore how perfect the curve of her ass is as she bends to pick up the can and brush. I want her. Bad. T he realization hits me like a fresh wave of paint fumes, making my head blur and spin.
But I have no business wanting this girl, and I'm well aware that I just can't have her, so I say what I need to say to give her a hard shove in the opposite direction from me before I make a huge mess when I know better.
I seriously know better .
"Well, there's no way you could possibly be worse ." I roll my eyes at her shitty job, even though I know she's working as hard as she can. I feel like an asshole, but I push through. "No doubt about that."
The sharp clatter of the brush fal ling to the floor whips me around. Her lips are all trembly , maybe like she's about to cry. I feel like a jackoff for being unnecessarily cold to her, but it's what I have to do. If I don't hold this girl at arm's length, I'll pull her so she's tight against my body, start kissing that sweet mouth, and won't be able to stop until we're both naked and panting.
No girl's made me think anything so out of control in a long time, and I roll faster to get this damn job done and get my ass as far away from the sugary smell of her as I possibly can.
I just hope she doesn't cry. I'm not good at handling tears from a girl.
But there are no tears.
"Fuck you."
The words are clear out of her mouth, and I realize now that the wobble on her lips is all about fury.
"Excuse me?"
Even if I have been a little bit of a dick, I'm not big on being told to fuck off by anyone, especially not girls who are born and bred thinking they're better than I am.
"Maybe you got paint in your ears?" she suggests, her voice as sugar-sharp as her smell, like candy just about to burn. "I told you to fuck off."
She pops one paint-flecked hand on her hip and gives me a pursed-lip, raised-eyebrow pissy face that pings my irritation.
I let out a short, hard laugh, but I know damn well my smile isn’t hiding the aggravation pumping through me .
"Look, I'm not one of your prep school tutors, alright? My job isn't to tell you how perfect every damn thing you do is. You suck at painting, and I get it. I'm sure it's hard to do physical labor when you're worried about keeping your nails and hair
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