Page 53 of Mr. Swoony

I love that he’s leaving the decision up to me, even though he clearly doesn’t think it’s a good idea.

“I think I’m good.”

Shit, that was a very bad experience.

He brings the cigarette to his lips, holding it the manly way between his thumb and pointer finger. A curl of smoke leaks out of his mouth before he tosses it on the ground and steps on it.

My nipples pebble in my bra.

“Off the list,” he says, standing from the step. He stills when he notices me watching him intently. “What?”

“Nothing.” I rise from the step and walk to the door of the building.

“That look wasn’t nothing.” He grabs my wrist and twists me around.

“Did you used to be a smoker?”

He shrugs. “I’ve done it a few times, but it was never a habit. There’s no way I’d have the stamina to play. Stop dodging the question. What was the look for?”

“It was just… I mean, you looked really…”

“Say it.” He stares at me, and I have a feeling he’d wait all day.

“You looked sexy. Like a bad boy. It was swoony.”

His eyebrows raise. “Bad boy? Is that your type?”

I pull my wrist from his grip and turn toward the door. “You’re incorrigible.”

He leans past me to press the code into the keypad, his hard chest pressing against my back. “I think I’m going to take up smoking.”

The door opens, and we file inside, though by the time we reach his place, I’m still picturing how he looked with that cigarette. What is it about a bad boy that makes a woman want to lose all common sense?

Twenty-Two

Conor

I walk out of my bedroom after my shower to find Eloise putting her purse over her shoulder, ready to leave the condo.

“Where are you going?”

She stops and looks up, her gaze running up and down my half-naked body. “I think we need a rule about being dressed at all times.”

I cross to the fridge and grab a water. For some reason, I’ve been dying of thirst all day. “Why? You like what you see?” I open the bottle and chug half of it.

Her eyes are locked on my abs, and I love the way her mouth is hanging slightly open. Nothing dramatic, but just enough to say she likes what she sees. “Should I prance around in a towel after my shower?”

“I wouldn’t complain.” I shrug. “And just so you know, those shorts are torture enough.”

She’s wearing short jean shorts and an oversized white blouse, along with all the jewelry she usually does, the gold necklaces and earrings and bracelets. One thing I’ve figured out since she moved in is that she’s not a yoga pants and T-shirt kind of girl. Even her pajamas tops match the bottoms. I’m not complaining.

“My attire is clothing. Yours is basically a scrap of fabric.”

“So are those shorts.” Swiping my water bottle off the counter, I head toward my bedroom. “Hold up, I’ll go with you.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going,” she says from behind me.

“I’ll only be a second.” I disappear into my bedroom, keeping the door open a sliver so I can hear if she tries to ditch me.

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