Reaching First Read Free Page B

observed their entire exchange with palpable amusement. “ They think you’re the man for the job. If things were left to me, I’d hire a second handyman.”
    Anna waved off her skepticism. “Tyler owes the court one hundred hours. He has three months to complete his service, but there’s no penalty if he wraps things up early.”
    * * *
    That was Tyler’s cue to say how hard he was willing to work. But instead he found himself saying, “Sorry. Sounds like you need someone else to do the job.” He saw Ms. Benson frown, and Ormond looked pissed, but they’d have to get over it.
    Sure, Tyler could do the handyman crap. He’d learned all that and more, working with his daddy. One advantage of having a hard-ass father who made him do his chores before he could get out of the house for practice, day in, day out, the entire time he was growing up.
    But what would happen after the painting was done? If he still owed time, she’d ask for help setting up the computers. Putting books on shelves. Doing a hundred things he couldn’t do.
    Shit. If he was going to fuck up, he might as well do it right now, instead of letting six weeks go by. Instead of letting Emily Holt get to the very edge of her deadline, then telling her she was screwed.
    Because suddenly, inexplicably, he really didn’t want to disappoint Emily Holt.
    Not when she was standing there, looking like he’d just taken away her favorite stuffed animal. Not when her eyes were welling up with sudden tears, when she was staring straight ahead with an obvious determination not to blink. Not when her lower lip was trembling.
    And that was a damn sexy lower lip. He could picture himself reaching out to touch it with his forefinger. Her mouth would be warm, hot , like her palm had been when they’d shaken hands.  
    Community service was supposed to be a punishment. He knew that. It would force him to take time away from the ballpark, from the team, from settling into his new life in Raleigh.
    But community service didn’t seem nearly as bad, if Emily Holt was his jailer.  
    There. She was pulling herself together. She barely took a heartbeat to press her manicured nails right beneath her eyes, obviously forbidding herself to cry. She licked her lips— damn! —and she raised her chin with a look of defiance that was only underscored by the shake of her blond curls.
    “Mr. Brock, I understand if you’re not interested in helping out with Minerva House. It really wasn’t fair for Anna and Zach to put you on the spot this way.”
    There was fire beneath her words. Pride. She was blushing again, and the color looked good on her cheeks.
    Shit. He’d just have to make sure the hundred hours ended before the physical work was done. Shoving down his own nerves, the flash of cold fire that ate away at his gut when he thought about all those computers, all those books, he said, “Shoot. I’ve got to do something to satisfy the court. We can make this work. Just don’t call me ‘Mr. Brock.’ I’m Tyler.”
    Her sudden smile caught him by surprise. She wasn’t just some random woman who could sign his papers and get him out of jail, free. She was beautiful . Beautiful enough that his jeans suddenly felt too tight. Eager to disguise his cock’s version of being a reliable worker, he stepped forward and offered up a handshake. “I’m game, if you are.”
    * * *
    Game . Emily’s girl parts jumped at the word. But she was building castles out of a scattering of words. Tyler wasn’t inviting her to play. Not in the way her pounding heart wanted to, anyway.
    She had enough presence of mind to shake on the deal before she turned back to Anna’s desk and accepted the paperwork Zach handed her. There was a log to monitor Tyler’s hours, and a draft affidavit to submit to the court, along with half a dozen other forms.
    Anna frowned as Emily started signing the official pages. “I don’t want things starting off on the wrong foot,” she warned Tyler, sounding