Page 6 of A Fighting Chance

I watch his biceps and forearms flex and suddenly notice I have too much saliva in my mouth. I swallow.

Oh my god, am I drooling?Is my mouth actually watering?

This is so stupid. “Sure,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He presses his lips together, considering my single word answer, and narrows his eyes at me. He stands and straightens himself, then takes four measured steps in my direction. Before I know it, he’s maybe twelve inches from me.

Too close, too close, too close.

I stiffen.

“I’m Gentry. Gentry Bodine,” he says, extending his hand out and waiting—a silent cue that it’s now my turn.

I straighten my spine. “I’m Lyla. Lyla Elizabeth Whitney,” I say, taking his hand in mine and attempting to shake it, but he stops my attempt.

He turns my hand over in his, backside up, and to my sheer astonishment, bends down and slowly plants a damp kiss on my skin. He actuallykissesthe back of my hand like we’re straight out of a black and white movie. This man—this beautiful man standing here in nothing but his boxer briefs, no less—just displayed some ancient form of southern hospitality. It doesn’t match up. It doesn’t make sense.

He looks up at me, a sparkle in his eyes. And the bastard smirks yet again. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, although I doubt we can call it that,” he says, laughing at his own joke.

Shock.This is what shock feels like, right?

I’m in utter disbelief and I’m tired. Maybe I’m dreaming. That has to be it. “Um, you too,” I say, noting the awkwardness in my own voice.

He gently returns my hand to me and I feel the place on my hand where his lips touched, warm and tingling and wet. “Now, miss, as fun as this has been, I’ve got to be up early in the morning, so I’m going to get some sleep. I bid you goodnight,” he says. He dips his head to me and moves past me in the doorway of the bathroom, almost pressing his bare chest against my body to do so.

I feel the heat of his body through the thin material of my tank top and my breath hitches. Just as quickly as I feel the warmth, it’s gone again. I watch him walk down the hallway and into the bedroom across from mine, which was the guest bedroom last time I was here.

What the hell was that? What actually just happened?

I finish my routine in the bathroom as fast as I can and walk back to my bedroom, pausing and staring at his door for a moment, listening for any noise coming from behind it, but I hear nothing.

I shake my head and quickly slip inside my room. After replacing my toiletries, I pull the blankets back on the bed and crawl in. My body immediately unfolds, as if I’ve been folded up since the last time I was here. I relax my shoulders and nestle my head back into my pillow. If I know one thing, I will sleep hard. My eyelids are already heavy. I don’t know what time it is, but if I have to guess, it’s past midnight.

The only lingering thought I have is Gentry.

Who the hell is he?

And why is he here?

No one has mentioned a Gentry. Not my sister or Nan or Paw.

And he’s staying in the house?

I drift to sleep, thinking about the nearly naked stranger in the bathroom; thinking mostly of his near nakedness.

Four

Gentry

In truth,I knew exactly who she was when I asked her. But she seemed so embarrassed and off kilter and well, frankly, it was sexy—reallysexy. So, I wanted to ruffle her up a bit more. Just for fun. Harper told me yesterday that Lyla was coming, and while I didn’t expect to meet her for the first time standing in the bathroom in my boxer briefs while flossing, well…sometimes shit happens and you roll with it.

I feel like I have the distinct advantage of knowing much more about her than she knows about me. Nan and Paw talk about her all the time. Brag, really. Not that I mind. I like their stories about Lyla. Harper’s told me about her too. I was careful to avoid asking a lot of questions, though. I didn’t want to seem too nosy.

Settling into my bed, I pull my book from the nightstand and replay the bathroom scene in my mind. I can hear her in there now, and visions of her in those tiny pajama shorts keep flashing through my head.

Stop it, Gentry. You perv.

Shaking my head in an effort to rid myself of these thoughts, I refocus my attention on the book and stare down at the words on the paper.