Page 37 of Hero Hair
Macs is watching my face. “What? What is it?” He cranes his neck to see my line of vision.
I see a door down the hallway. It’s closed. “It’s beautiful. I love the entrance.” I point to the glass doors that open to the beautiful California view. “The eau de construction is strong, that’s all.” Facing him, I place my hands on his strong shoulders. “You’re pretty awesome with your hands,” I say, hoping the compliment will lighten the mood. It doesn’t. His eyes dart to the closed door and then back to me.
He swallows. “Want something to drink? I have beer or water.”
I raise one brow. “It’s the middle of the day. Beer?”
“I’m feeling real squirrely right now, so I hope you don’t mind if I have one.”
He leaves me for the fridge, pops the top off a brown bottle, and downs it in several gulps, his head tilted toward the ceiling. When he finishes it, he stares at me, unblinking. I press my lips together and wait for him to say something.
“Maybe I’ll have one more,” he finally says. He does. Then he looks at me again, like my face holds the answer of what comes next.
I laugh. “This is ludicrous. If you have to get drunk I shouldn’t even be here.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not getting drunk because you’re here, Teala. I’m getting drunk because of what it means.”
“Still want to have our third date?” he asks, pulling his T-shirt up to expose his abs. He bites the dark, cotton fabric, like men in fashion magazines do. With his abs flexed he poses so casual, so fucking drool-worthy, so over-the-top, and he gets away with it. He tosses the shirt onto the counter, with his tongue caught between his teeth.
I blow out a breath. It’s as hot as a Channing Tatum movie. More so, actually, because I can touch this body, can do whatever I want with it. “How am I supposed to say anything but yes when you don’t play fair? You’re over there with your goddamn abs and dimples and precision stripping skills.” I motion to his body.
“Babe, you played dirty first. Your mouth is like a fucking dirty poker game. One you’ll win every single time.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Thanks, I guess. Third date?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
“Let’s go to my bedroom.” He rushes me then—all muscles and stolen breaths in between teeth and kisses. “It does smell like work out here.”
