She’s all smiles and swagger. I watched her lips move almost the entire time. The bottom one is a little fuller than the top. If she wasn’t smiling all the time, it would give her a pouty sort of look. But there is nothing pouty about Willa Grant.

She’s a spark in the dark. Dancing flames against a midnight sky. She shines brighter than almost anyone in this entire place with her glossy hair, bright dress, and twinkling green eyes.

And she’s the fucking nanny, which means I shouldn’t be counting songs and minutes like some sort of possessive psycho, when all I’ve been to her for over a week is a grumpy asshole.

Doesn’t stop me from breathing a sigh of relief when she shakes hands with whatever asshole just stole two and a half minutes of her life and waves goodnight to him.

When she gets back to our table, I can see the rosy blush on her cheeks, a little perspiration shimmering at her temples, a wayward strand of copper hair sticking to her glossed bottom lip.

Summer says something to her, but it’s hard to hear over the blaring music and constant chatter. Her laughter draws my gaze right as she plunks down beside me without sparing me a glance.

She sits closer this time though. Teasing that center line of the couch. I’m reminded of that night I followed her to her room and stared down at the line on the floor.

Lines I shouldn’t cross. Lines I shouldn’t even be spending this long staring at.

She reaches forward for her beer, and as she does, she places a palm on my thigh to catch her balance, and all those lines blur in my mind. Because all I can see is how petite her hand is on my leg. And all I can feel is the roil of heat seeping into my muscles. The slow swell in my pants.

Suddenly I’m not measuring time. I’m measuring inches, because her hand is mere inches away from feeling just how much I don’t dislike her. Not even one bit.

Then her hand is gone and I’m stuck staring at her lips. The way her throat works as she takes a deep swallow of beer.

With a sigh, she leans back, appraising the bar before her, and announces, “This place is fun.”

I clear my throat, grasping for something to talk about. “Is this like the bar you work at?”