Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book)

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 the 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. The 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 falling 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 perfect. But if this room doesn't meet spec, we do it again. Meaning I do it again, since you obviously can't. So get back to work, and try not to do such a shitty job this time."
Harsh, I know, but this girl isn't from my world, and it will all be easier if I let her see what a dick I can be and how completely wrong we are for each other, no questions. Next session, she'll be the one who requests we don't work together, I'll get the work done twice as fast, and I can go back to life as usual, without ridiculous thoughts of this sexy, out-of-my-league girl clogging up my brain.
That perfect mouth is hanging open, her cool blue eyes are totally round, and her breathing is so erratic, I can see her chest rise and fall. The urge to yank her over to me is strong as hell, but I put a lid on it and get back to business, determined to do my job and ignore her as much as I can for the next few hours.
My ears register the whip and spatter a few seconds before my skin feels it. I reach one hand to the back of my neck, and my fingers are coated in light blue paint that's leaking in a slow line down my back and pooling at the waistband of my boxers. Paintbrush fisted in her hand, eyes hurling me a dare I can't resist, this girl is upping the stakes quick.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" My voice is soft and smooth, and I hope she doesn't take that to mean I'm above getting her wise ass back for throwing paint at me.
"Putting you in your place. Were you raised in a barn? Where I come from, men don't talk