Read Escaping Me for Free Online Page B

with contempt or agitation—it is something else.  Yes.  He is looking at me like he wants to tear my clothes off, and I would let him. 
    He closes the distance between us.  Here we are, chest to chest.  The air around me instantly thickens, making it nearly impossible to breathe.  His eyes go to mine and then to my lips, the same way they did at the bar.  He takes in a shallow breath, and I can tell he is having a hard time breathing, too.  I’m not sure if I should duck out from under him and run or throw myself against him.  I've never been so intimidated or so turned on in my life.  It is infuriating.  He licks one corner of his lips and I think for sure he is going to kiss me.  Seconds tick and he still hasn’t moved.  Is he waiting for me to give him the okay?  Does he really want to kiss me?  I raise my chin slightly and let my eyes close.  I hold my breath, waiting for his lip to fall on mine, and forget every reason I should be mad at him for.  That is until he utters three words that manage to remind me. 
    “ No signature required.”
    My eyes snap open and I see him holding the clipboard up.  Son of a bitch! I quickly pass beside him, my fists clenched at my side, and stomp back to the house.  I don’t know if I was madder about the fact that he is an asshole who made me look like an idiot or because my mother sent me out there knowing full well that absolutely nothing needed to be signed.
    “ Really, Mom?” I ask as I blow through the back door.
    “ Oh, that's right,” she chuckles.  “I forgot that I don't have to sign for deliveries.”
    I can’t do anything but shake my head.
    “I'm guessing he's still not your man,” Mallory adds to fuel the fire.
    “ Nope,” pops from my lips with agitation.  “He's still just a dick.”
     
    * * *
     
    I spent my entire relationship with Wesley doing what he wanted to do on the weekends, so I was excited about spending an entire Saturday doing absolutely nothing. However, due to my new living situation, I quickly realize that Saturday is still a work day down on Mama's farm.  After breakfast, and the botched attempt at civility with Cole Pritchett, my mother handed me the keys to the Jeep and told me I would be going into town to pick up a few things for her at the local hardware store.  She also noted that, when I returned, I would be going out in the barn to help my sister take inventory on everything for the flea market next weekend.  My mother specializes in salvaging old furniture.  “Upcycling” is the cutesy nickname she has for turning old crap into something that people will pay good money for.  She can take the ugliest old dressers and chairs and turn them into show-stopping pieces.  The idea of having to spend the day in the stuffy old barn is nauseating.
    “ Can't Mallory just go?  I mean, she knows where everything is and already knows everyone,” I negotiate.  If there is one thing I learned from my father, it is the art of a good negotiation.  “Wouldn't you rather have me stay in and spend some time with you?”  I give her my best puppy dog eyes and try to play the “quality time with mom” card.
    “ Awww, honey... that's so sweet,” she beams and runs her hand over my cheek.  “But I didn't just fall off the turnip truck.  If you think I'm going to give in to your sweet talk and let you go back to bed, you're crazy,” she notes with a sarcastic, sugary tone.  “Besides, if you're going to be living here, you might as well get out and meet some folks.  Now off with ya!”  She pulls the dishrag off her shoulder and snaps it at me lightly.  I jump back and crinkle my nose at her with a smile. “Love ya, Whit,” she calls as I walk out the door.
    “ You have a funny way of showing it,” I laugh before adding, “You too, Mom.”  I am still having a hard time settling into the loving environment of my mother's house.  It isn’t that my dad and stepmom didn't love me.  We just weren't the