Page 42 of Make Her Mine

“Do you like the dress?” She steps back and spreads her arms, then does a little twirl.

Well, if she wants me to look, I’m gonna look. I sweep my eyes over her from head to toe.

“I like it very much.”

She turns and props a hand on her hip, looking at me over her shoulder. “It makes my ass look great, don’t you think?”

I am not sure what she’s doing, but I let my gaze drop to her ass. And I say honestly, “It really does.”

Harlow has a great ass, and this dress clinging to it the way it does—if I was her boyfriend, of course—would make it very hard for me to keep my hands to myself tonight.

“I wore this just for you,” she says turning to face me again.

And now I’m suspicious. “Really? And why is that?”

“Because if I was your girlfriend, this would probably be your favorite dress. I know blue is your favorite color. And I know you’re an ass guy.”

Blue is my favorite color. I especially like this specific color of sapphire blue. Call me sappy, but I spent years wearing this color from Little League, through high school football. “I’m an ass guy?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I am. It’s not the only female body part I like, of course, but it is one of my favorites. But how do you know that?”

Her hand is still on her hip, and she’s watching me with a combination of amusement and exasperation. “The first summer you were home from college, you had been out drinking with your buddies, and you all came home and crashed in the basement where Graham and I were watching movies. You were talking about how great Whitney Bennett looked since she had started doing kickboxing. You were all being super gross. But someone commented that he’d always thought Whitney had a great body and you agreed that she had one of the best asses in town.” Harlow shakes her head. “You were all such pigs.”

I do not remember this conversation, but it absolutely sounds like something I said when I was young, immature, and a little tipsy. And yes, Whitney Bennett is a gorgeous woman and always has been.

“Whitney’s beautiful,” I say with a shrug. “You can’t really blame us for thinking that.”

“I will admit that at least you and your friends have gotten a lot better about not saying your stupid thoughts out loud.”

“So you don’t want me to say out loud that you look hot as hell and that your ass is amazing?”

She looks up at me. “If I was really your girlfriend, would you tell me that?”

“No. I think I would show you that,” I tell her.

Her cheeks get a little pink, but she gives me a smile. “Good answer.”

“Yeah? You would want me to express my feelings that way? If I was really your boyfriend?”

She runs a hand down the front of the dress. “What woman doesn’t want her man to like how she looks?”

“Noted.”

She steps forward and I turn to let her pass in front of me. As she steps out onto the porch, and I move to pull the door shut behind us, I smack her on the ass. She looks up at me. “Really?”

“You’re my girlfriend this week.”

“Fake girlfriend.”

“I can’t fake-slap you on the ass.”

“There’s no one around to see you do that, so you can keep your hands to yourself, Coach.”

I laugh. “You don’t think we should practice? Make sure we’re both in the right mindset before we’re in public?”

She gives me a wide-eyed look. “I do not.”

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