Page 29 of Hero Hair

I nudge him from the side. “We’re doing such a good job, though.”

He laughs. It’s a joke. We’re seconds from having sex on every surface in my house.

“I understand if you want to take off.”

He needs to get off.

He tells me he has a work trip and probably won’t see me for a while. I try, and probably fail, to hide my disappointment. I tell him I’m busy at the studio anyways. He gets nervous, turning his head as if to stretch his neck.

“Spit it out,” I prompt him.

“So we,” he says, motioning between our bodies, “we’re exclusive?” He grimaces, and it’s over exaggerated, so it clues me into a couple of things. He’s uncomfortable asking so he’s using humor, and he’s also testing the waters with regard to our fake dating deal. It seems less fake every second we’re together. There’s no way I’d tell him that.

“You’re not banging dudes?”

I raise one brow and suck in a long breath. “You’re not banging chicks?”

He turns away. My cell buzzes on the counter again. It draws his attention immediately. I know why.

“You can do whatever you want to do, Macs. I’m not your girlfriend. Or your mom. Just go.”

He smiles. It hurts my stomach. It’s what he wants to hear. “You’re my dream come true, you know that?” he exclaims.

The pain in my stomach turns solid and sinks even further. I can’t and won’t go on any dates with anyone else. Crossing my legs at the ankle, I try to squelch the desire coursing through every nerve ending. “Yeah, yeah. I get that a lot. So next date?”

Macs senses the change. He turns my face using one finger on my chin. He can’t see disappointment. I won’t let him. The shield is confidently in place.

“Third base date?” He studies my face, ostensibly looking for any sort of deceit. He won’t find it.

“You won’t leave with blue balls?” I try a joke.

He laughs, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He holds my chin in his hand, like I’m a petulant, disobedient child.

Instead of saying something meant to reassure me, he leans down and kisses me, his tongue diving in my mouth. He’s careful to keep his body away from mine. It’s just a kiss. Something I can’t say I’ve ever had. A kiss with desire and moans, one that doesn’t lead to anything else. No blow jobs, or finger banging, a meeting of mouths just because we both enjoy the way it feels. I think anyways. I can’t get a true read of him. Both of his hands are on either side of my face. He holds me reverently, gently.

He pulls away and looks at me through eyes that aren’t hiding anything for the moment. My kiss has disarmed him if only for a second or two. He’s just as intrigued by our chemistry as I am. “I’m not going to be with any other women, Tay-la,” he growls.

“Oh,” I say.

It doesn’t make any sense. Men don’t look one way and then act another. They always behave in a predictable way. Men like Macs take what they want from whoever they please.

“I don’t want to have sex with anyone else. Just to clear that up,” I explain.

“You don’t say?” He smiles.

I roll my eyes. “You’re so cocky. I should, just to spite you.”

Shaking his head, he says, “Never do anything to spite me. That would mean I care and I don’t. I’m not doing anything to ruin our science experiment. Now I’m curious as to how this will play out.” The smile fades from his face. He doesn’t like the idea of my having sex with another man. It’s something, I guess.

“I’m not a science experiment,” I deadpan.

He backs away from me, toward my large, ornate front door. “I don’t fuck experiments, babe.” He’s not fucking anything tonight. Or, according to him, he’s not. I’m not sure I believe him. “And I’m definitely fucking you. Your body is going to haunt my damn dreams,” he says, very obviously running his eyes up and down my body. A jolt of energy spikes in my system, like electricity taking the place of blood in my veins. “Not tonight. Call your friends back and tell them about the first kiss with a side of orgasm.”

I can almost feel his tongue on my neck from remembering it. I shiver. He watches. Forgetting his keys on my counter, he leans forward to grab them. I notice he glances at my phone.

Placing my hands on my hips, I say, “I’ll walk you out.”

Clutching his keys, he chuckles. “No, you won’t. Not unless you want to fuck in my backseat?” Macs tilts his head to the side in the direction of his car. When I don’t respond he says, “Thought so. Good night. I’d kiss you, but I can’t.”

My heart skips along this furious pace I’m not familiar with. I get a little light-headed. It has to be lust. I need to have sex, or engage in a long date with my vibrator. He flashes his dimples and he’s out of my door and heading down the hallway to the elevator. One of my neighbors is unlocking her door, her little barky dog in her arms. She gapes as Macs walks by, and as if I’m a second thought, she turns her huge brown eyes my way. I wave my hand and then put a finger under my chin and bring my lower jaw up to meet the top with a click of teeth. She scurries into her apartment with an embarrassed scowl on her face. I laugh but can’t tear my gaze from his retreating back.

The way you move says a lot about a person. I see it in yoga, through the poses and the fluidity of movement. I can decipher their skill level, determine things about their personalities. The way Macs moves is something else entirely. Something predatory lies in the depths of his stride. It drips with confidence and danger. He has a sway in his walk, his muscles preventing him from looking ordinary, even though he’s not even trying for extraordinary. It’s something that comes naturally to him. He doesn’t look back before he gets on the elevator.

Not even a quick backward glance in my direction. I hear my heartbeat in my ears, a cacophony reminding me I’m in dangerous territory, and feel the wetness between my legs. He doesn’t just walk like a predator. He is the goddamn king of those motherfuckers.

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