Page 40 of My Hotshot

I glanced in the mirror and exhaled. “This is as good as it’s gonna get.”

I found my leather sandals by the door and shoved my feet into them. Comfortable, cute. Solid combo.

Looking myself over one more time, I gave a small nod. “Yup. This will do.”

I looked like I could be heading out to meet a friend for lunch. Polished just enough to say I tried, without looking like I put a whole runway show together to binge-watchHighway Through Hell.

Just as I flicked off the bedroom light, the doorbell rang.

My heart leapt.

The man wasquick.

I walked down the hallway with my palms sweaty and heart thudding a little harder than necessary for a Friday night hangout. I hadn’t even ordered the pizza yet.

Shit.

I opened the door—and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Hotdamn.

Duane stood there like a denim-clad daydream, wearing his leather club cut over a plain fitted tee that clung to his chest like it had a crush on him. Light-washed jeans hugged his hips just right, and his black motorcycle boots were scuffed in that effortless, lived-in way that somehow made them hotter.

“Hey, babe.”

I blinked. Hard.

Focus, Lainey.

I looked up at his eyes—those rich, dark eyes that had no business being that intense. He was all warm danger and quiet comfort, and it was ridiculous how unfairly good-looking the man was.

“Hello,” I blurted. I cringed. “I mean… hi. Hello.” I rolled my eyes at myself.Cool start, Lainey. Very smooth.

A slow, sexy smile spread across his face. Of course, he knew exactly what his presence did to me. The man had eyes. And ego.

He stepped inside without me even having to invite him as his gaze slid slowly around the living room.

“No pizza yet?”

I blinked again. “Oh. Uh. Is there a place you like to order from?” I asked and moved to close the door.

Lottie and I had tried a few different places since moving to Mt. Pleasant, but I figured Duane—Dice—would know the best of the best when it came to grease and cheese.

He looked back at me with a lopsided grin. “You trust me to pick the pizza?”

I tilted my head. “I trust your stomach, sure.”

He chuckled. “Alright. I’ve got a spot. You want your usual?”

I opened my mouth, then narrowed my eyes. “What do youthinkmy usual is?”

He shrugged and looked entirely too confident. “Pepperoni and black olives. Maybe mushrooms, if you’re feelin’ dangerous.”

I gaped at him. “Okay, that’s creepy. How do you remember that?”

He smirked. “You’re hard to forget, babe.”

He pulled out his phone like he’d won the world’s easiest bet and began tapping in the order.

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