Wicked Sexy Liar
Page 5
“Are you in need of a distraction?”
Inside, something sharp recoils into my lungs, but I manage a friendly smile. “I’m good.”
Luke dips his head, looking up at me through his lashes as he asks, “What does that mean, you’re ‘good’?”
I pick up a bar towel, looking down at it as I tell him, “It means I don’t date guys I meet at work.”
“I’m not asking you to go steady, Dimples.” With a sneaky smile, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another dollar, tucking it away inside the jar. His eyes meet mine and something tightens between my ribs and belly button. His look is knowing, as if he can see that I had a shitty day, and I see he’s having a shitty night, and he likes that we both see these things.
I don’t like having this chemistry with him, don’t like the wordless connection.
Or maybe I don’t like how much I like it. I still have that choking-breathless feel from this morning, but it loosens inexplicably the longer he’s here, talking to me.
“Speaking of,” he says quietly, “I haven’t seen much of those dimples tonight.”
Shrugging, I say, “Let’s just say it’s been a day.”
He leans both elbows on the bar, studying me. “Sounds like you could blow off some steam, too.”
I laugh at this, unable to resist admitting, “Probably true.”
Reaching for a coaster, he spins it slowly in front of him. “Maybe someone could help you out with that.”
I ignore him and start wiping down the bar. It isn’t the first time I’ve been propositioned at work, not by a long shot. But it’s the first time I’m tempted to accept, because inside, I’m thrumming as I imagine what he’s offering.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, undeterred, and I shake my head.
“No,” I tell him. If the way his arms look in that T-shirt is any indication, I bet he looks fantastic naked.
I bet he knows he does, too.
It’s a sign that it’s been way too long since I’ve had sex if I’m even having this conversation with myself. The last thing I need in my life is a guy like Luke. I take a sharp breath and get some physical distance, stepping away a little.
Following me with his eyes, he asks, “So is this no-dating-guys-you-meet-at-work thing, like, an actual rule?”
“Sort of.” I fold the bar towel and tuck it into the back of my apron, meeting his eyes.
“What if I promised I was absolutely worth it?”
Why do I think he is absolutely telling the truth? He smiles shyly, but behind his honey-brown eyes, I can see he’s still hunting.
“I’m sure you’re amazing.” I lean back against the sink, staring him down and shocked that I’m even still standing here. “But I don’t even remember your name.”
“Yes, you do.” He leans forward, crossing his arms on the glossy wood.
I bite back a smile.
“What time do you get off tonight?” he asks.
I can’t help but look at his mouth and imagine how it would feel moving, hot and open, down my neck, my breasts, over my ribs.
It occurs to me that if one wanted to break a losing streak, one would go with a sure thing, right? Who better to bust me out of my sex drought than someone who clearly knows what he’s doing? And someone who wouldn’t need it to mean anything?
A few beats of silence pass between us before I straighten, reaching for a ticket one of the waitresses sets down next to me. It’s now or never.
“I get off at one.”
Chapter TWO
Luke
I’M NOT SURE what it is about this girl that’s so different from every other girl I’ve let into my house, but I find myself racing up the steps and getting to the door before her, doing a quick scan of the dark living room, a tiny peek toward the kitchen.
Not too bad.
No food left out on the coffee table and—more important—no boxers on the kitchen floor. I’m doing the mental trigger finger salute to the gods to make sure we’re on the same page here: there’d better not be any condom wrappers visible in the bedroom. Or the bathroom, for that matter.
I open the door wider for her and grin. “Come on in.”
Logan looks at my face and then into the darkness before taking a cautious step forward. I reach past her, flicking on the living room lights.
And there it is: the difference. Most girls enter my house walking backward, with their fists curled in my shirt. Some step inside with their eyes on my face, waiting for the tiny lift of my chin to the left, the silent The bedroom is that way. This one walks in looking at everything the way she looks at me, like she’s not sure she wants to touch anything.
I can almost hear the words embedded in her deep inhale before she says them out loud: “I just realized I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
I step back a little. Without hesitation, my answer is, “Nothing you don’t want to do.”
But inside I’m letting out a long-suffering groan; it’s been a long day with a lot of drama. I’d really like to lose myself in some fast sex tonight, but don’t want it to be a long, drawn-out seduction.
As if it’s already given up on plan A, my stomach rumbles and I glance toward the kitchen. “Hungry?”
She shrugs. “A little?”
“I have some . . .” Walking over, I open the fridge and lean in, inspecting. “Beer. Tortillas. Sriracha. Celery, pepperoni, and . . .” Opening a drawer, I say, “String cheese.”
I turn and look at her when I’m met with silence, and her wary expression is hilarious. I draw a circle in the air, asking, “What is that face?”
“I have no idea what face I’m making,” she says, straightening and giving me a little smile instead.
I lean my arm on the open refrigerator door. “Then tell me what you’re thinking.”
Her brows lift as if to confirm that I really want to hear it. When I nod, she says, “You’re almost too stereotypical to be real.”
A laugh barks out of me. “Am I?”
The truth comes out in a torrent: “You’re hot as sin, had to double-check to make sure the last girl didn’t leave her underwear on the couch, and your fridge is bachelor-level empty.”
So let’s add observant to the list of things that intrigue me about this girl.
I shrug, flashing her a quick grin. “I eat out a lot.”
She skirts past my innuendo with a tiny smirk. “But if these things are all as well correlated as I suspect, it means you’re really good in bed and probably have an enormous penis.”
A smile tugs at the side of my mouth, and I fight it as long as I can but end up bursting out laughing. Finally, she gives in to a real smile of her own and it snags me somewhere dusty and unexpected. Sexy smiles go straight to my cock, but her smile isn’t just sexy, it’s happy. And it isn’t just the dimples. It’s the twinkle in her eyes, something that seems to look deeper than the surface. I don’t even know if it’s possible for a true smile to be anything other than happy but hers is the best happy smile I’ve seen in . . .
I wipe my face with a palm and then move closer to her, fighting the ratcheting tension in my gut as I reach for a loose strand of her hair. I smooth it behind the curve of her ear, whispering, “Look, Logan.”
Her eyes narrow skeptically for a moment, and then she’s biting back a grin.
Inside, something sharp recoils into my lungs, but I manage a friendly smile. “I’m good.”
Luke dips his head, looking up at me through his lashes as he asks, “What does that mean, you’re ‘good’?”
I pick up a bar towel, looking down at it as I tell him, “It means I don’t date guys I meet at work.”
“I’m not asking you to go steady, Dimples.” With a sneaky smile, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out another dollar, tucking it away inside the jar. His eyes meet mine and something tightens between my ribs and belly button. His look is knowing, as if he can see that I had a shitty day, and I see he’s having a shitty night, and he likes that we both see these things.
I don’t like having this chemistry with him, don’t like the wordless connection.
Or maybe I don’t like how much I like it. I still have that choking-breathless feel from this morning, but it loosens inexplicably the longer he’s here, talking to me.
“Speaking of,” he says quietly, “I haven’t seen much of those dimples tonight.”
Shrugging, I say, “Let’s just say it’s been a day.”
He leans both elbows on the bar, studying me. “Sounds like you could blow off some steam, too.”
I laugh at this, unable to resist admitting, “Probably true.”
Reaching for a coaster, he spins it slowly in front of him. “Maybe someone could help you out with that.”
I ignore him and start wiping down the bar. It isn’t the first time I’ve been propositioned at work, not by a long shot. But it’s the first time I’m tempted to accept, because inside, I’m thrumming as I imagine what he’s offering.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks, undeterred, and I shake my head.
“No,” I tell him. If the way his arms look in that T-shirt is any indication, I bet he looks fantastic naked.
I bet he knows he does, too.
It’s a sign that it’s been way too long since I’ve had sex if I’m even having this conversation with myself. The last thing I need in my life is a guy like Luke. I take a sharp breath and get some physical distance, stepping away a little.
Following me with his eyes, he asks, “So is this no-dating-guys-you-meet-at-work thing, like, an actual rule?”
“Sort of.” I fold the bar towel and tuck it into the back of my apron, meeting his eyes.
“What if I promised I was absolutely worth it?”
Why do I think he is absolutely telling the truth? He smiles shyly, but behind his honey-brown eyes, I can see he’s still hunting.
“I’m sure you’re amazing.” I lean back against the sink, staring him down and shocked that I’m even still standing here. “But I don’t even remember your name.”
“Yes, you do.” He leans forward, crossing his arms on the glossy wood.
I bite back a smile.
“What time do you get off tonight?” he asks.
I can’t help but look at his mouth and imagine how it would feel moving, hot and open, down my neck, my breasts, over my ribs.
It occurs to me that if one wanted to break a losing streak, one would go with a sure thing, right? Who better to bust me out of my sex drought than someone who clearly knows what he’s doing? And someone who wouldn’t need it to mean anything?
A few beats of silence pass between us before I straighten, reaching for a ticket one of the waitresses sets down next to me. It’s now or never.
“I get off at one.”
Chapter TWO
Luke
I’M NOT SURE what it is about this girl that’s so different from every other girl I’ve let into my house, but I find myself racing up the steps and getting to the door before her, doing a quick scan of the dark living room, a tiny peek toward the kitchen.
Not too bad.
No food left out on the coffee table and—more important—no boxers on the kitchen floor. I’m doing the mental trigger finger salute to the gods to make sure we’re on the same page here: there’d better not be any condom wrappers visible in the bedroom. Or the bathroom, for that matter.
I open the door wider for her and grin. “Come on in.”
Logan looks at my face and then into the darkness before taking a cautious step forward. I reach past her, flicking on the living room lights.
And there it is: the difference. Most girls enter my house walking backward, with their fists curled in my shirt. Some step inside with their eyes on my face, waiting for the tiny lift of my chin to the left, the silent The bedroom is that way. This one walks in looking at everything the way she looks at me, like she’s not sure she wants to touch anything.
I can almost hear the words embedded in her deep inhale before she says them out loud: “I just realized I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
I step back a little. Without hesitation, my answer is, “Nothing you don’t want to do.”
But inside I’m letting out a long-suffering groan; it’s been a long day with a lot of drama. I’d really like to lose myself in some fast sex tonight, but don’t want it to be a long, drawn-out seduction.
As if it’s already given up on plan A, my stomach rumbles and I glance toward the kitchen. “Hungry?”
She shrugs. “A little?”
“I have some . . .” Walking over, I open the fridge and lean in, inspecting. “Beer. Tortillas. Sriracha. Celery, pepperoni, and . . .” Opening a drawer, I say, “String cheese.”
I turn and look at her when I’m met with silence, and her wary expression is hilarious. I draw a circle in the air, asking, “What is that face?”
“I have no idea what face I’m making,” she says, straightening and giving me a little smile instead.
I lean my arm on the open refrigerator door. “Then tell me what you’re thinking.”
Her brows lift as if to confirm that I really want to hear it. When I nod, she says, “You’re almost too stereotypical to be real.”
A laugh barks out of me. “Am I?”
The truth comes out in a torrent: “You’re hot as sin, had to double-check to make sure the last girl didn’t leave her underwear on the couch, and your fridge is bachelor-level empty.”
So let’s add observant to the list of things that intrigue me about this girl.
I shrug, flashing her a quick grin. “I eat out a lot.”
She skirts past my innuendo with a tiny smirk. “But if these things are all as well correlated as I suspect, it means you’re really good in bed and probably have an enormous penis.”
A smile tugs at the side of my mouth, and I fight it as long as I can but end up bursting out laughing. Finally, she gives in to a real smile of her own and it snags me somewhere dusty and unexpected. Sexy smiles go straight to my cock, but her smile isn’t just sexy, it’s happy. And it isn’t just the dimples. It’s the twinkle in her eyes, something that seems to look deeper than the surface. I don’t even know if it’s possible for a true smile to be anything other than happy but hers is the best happy smile I’ve seen in . . .
I wipe my face with a palm and then move closer to her, fighting the ratcheting tension in my gut as I reach for a loose strand of her hair. I smooth it behind the curve of her ear, whispering, “Look, Logan.”
Her eyes narrow skeptically for a moment, and then she’s biting back a grin.
