Page 40 of Third Time Lucky

My list becomes pointless when I remember I have plans. “Tomorrow night isn’t going to work.”

“Nighttime nanny wrangling?”

“No.” I lick my lips. “JD set me up on a blind date. Three actually.”

“You’re going on three dates tomorrow night?”

From his expression, he wasn’t expecting that question to come out as loudly as it did.

“One. The other two are yet to be determined.”

“One date.”

Rip off the Band Aid.

“I got dumped recently, and I don’t have the best track record when it comes to men. My brother wants to help, and I figure, why not? He can’t do any worse than I have. I hope.”

The silence that follows my admission is giving me hives. Did he catch that? The “I date men” part? I think he did. “I have a feeling I’ll need a beer after tomorrow night’s dinner, if you want a raincheck.”

He stands up abruptly, a small frown between his brows and a flush in his cheeks. That look. There it is. I’ve done it now. I have successfully freaked him out and he’s heading for a higher ranking as we speak.

Please don’t go to six.

“A raincheck is fine. We’ll go day after tomorrow. You can tell me all about your date.” There’s a bite to that last bit, but I can’t tell if he’s upset about me turning him down for bro beers, or for being gay and ruining our balcony hangs.

He hesitates, as though not sure what to do with himself, and I take him in while I still have a chance. He’s not trying to be forbidden fruit. He exists and so he is.

He’s also a decent guy. I barely know him, but what I do know, I genuinely like.

I can be good at compartmentalizing. I have my family. I have my friends. I have my “boyfriends.” I used quotations because neither of the boyfriends I’ve had would have admitted to the relationship out loud. I’ve rarely been around a man I wanted in multiple categories. Someone I feel like I can be myself with and someone I want to see naked.

Unfortunately, it looks like nudity is not going to be on the menu.

He’s still staring. Waiting. “It’s okay if you want to cancel our raincheck,” I finally tell him quietly. “I’ll understand.”

I wouldn’t like it, but not everyone can be ope—

His strong hands clamp onto my shoulders and pull me to my feet easily enough to make me simultaneously nervous and pissed off.

“What the fuck, Elliot?”

Before I can elbow him and show him the wicked self-defense moves Manwich taught me for these exact situations, he’s kissing me.

He’s kissing me?

Elliot Ransom is kissing me.

But he’s a two-point-five.

And yet, here we are. This is happening. Almost. The hands on me are hard and demanding, but his lips are all soft suggestion and restraint. He brushes them against mine once. Twice. The third time, a tremor runs through his muscular body, and he pulls away a bit.

“Is this…? Can I?”

Kryptonite.

Before my brain can screw things up, his stubble is scratching my palms because I’m tilting my head to fit our mouths together in answer. Hell yes. I trace his lower lip with my tongue and a rough sound escapes his throat. I need to hear that again. I have to taste more.

My back hits brick before I realize he’s moved me again. He’s controlling this. Controlling me. I’ve never been handled this way, rough but not painful. His strength is electrifying. I want him to put me where he needs me. To take what he needs.

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