Page 36 of Last First Love
"Oh? And how did it play out?" A pause, and I hold my breath waiting to see what happens next.
"How about I come over to your place and we have this discussion in person?" His voice is dripping with sexy intent, like he's ready to lick chocolate off every available square inch of me. At least, that's how he sounds to my very, very optimistic lady bits.
"I'd like that." Oh shit. Would I? I mean, yes. That is why I called him but maybe only in theory. If we see each other again in person, then he'll definitely see how deeply awkward I am. And he's almost certain to notice that I am, in fact, still chubby.
I swear I can hear the smile in his voice. "I'll be there in ten."
Wait, what? I'm this close to asking him to reconsider or take a raincheck, but he's already hung up. And here's the thing. Literally everything in Valentine is ten minutes away. I can drive to one end of town or the other in that time frame, make it down to the courthouse square, or head toward the grocery store. So even though I don't know exactly where Daniels lives, I know he's not kidding about being here in ten minutes.
I need to take a shower. A cold shower. And then shave everything. But there really isn't enough time for that, is there?
I'm tempted to call Darcy or K.T. in a panic, but I don't have time to panic either. The best I can do is a quick trip to the bathroom to brush my teeth and maybe run a washcloth over the parts might be the most problematic from a getting naked with a hot guy perspective. Ugh, no. That's literally all of my parts.
But even as I'm finishing up the emergency toothbrushing session (with mouthwash, obviously), there's a knock on my door and I swear I can feel something in the air. It's definitely him right outside my home again.
"Coming," I call out as I head to the door, trying to discreetly check to make sure there's no little toothpaste bits around the edges of my mouth. Because yuck.
And then I pull open my front door and he's standing there in all his gorgeous glory, offering up a bouquet of sunflowers. Gah, how did he know? The pretty yellow blooms are like a little package of sunshine and always give me that summertime feeling.
But then his face, his perfect face, curves up into a smile that breaks hearts and melts panties. "These are for you, beautiful Lily."
There's that word again. The sound vibrates from my eardrum right along every nerve in my body until every part of me is abuzz. Like he's magically made my blood carbonated simply by paying me a compliment. The exact right one at the exact right time.
"Thank you," I manage. I take a step back. "Do you want to come inside, or should be have this entire conversation right here in the doorway?"
His eyes sparkle at that and he slinks into my house like a not quite tame panther on the prowl. Even when he's fully dressed, his muscles are so delicious and obvious in his extra tight t-shirt that watching him move is the stuff that dreams are made of. Hot dreams, where the sexy man in question comes over to your place to make you have a million orgasms with his amazing penis powers.
He slides the door shut behind him and I hear him turn the lock, but his eyes are fixed on me. Like he's a predator. Like I'm his prey.
The very thought makes my pulse race. Or is it because he's so close? Or maybe because he's here and he brought all his muscles and all eight of his ab ripples just underneath that flimsy cotton shirt?
My fingers are itching to touch him, but I've got to play this cool. If he doesn't make the first move, I'm certainly not going to do it. I take a deep breath, but his eyes immediately drop to my breasts and in response, my mouth goes dry.
"Lily," he says my name like a prayer. And oh, how I want to be the answer to that particular prayer. Come on hot guy. Give it your best shot with me.
But no. He’s not moving closer to tongue-fuck me. Instead, he’s staring at me with an expression that I’m having real difficulty picking up on. But it’s definitely not a let’s-get-naked facial expression.
"Let's sit down and talk. I owe you an apology." He moves toward my couch, then pats the cushion next to him. Well, not the sexiest thing that's ever happened with Daniels in my living room, but still probably salvageable.
I mean, he wouldn't have come over here if he only wanted to let me down easy, right?
Unless I were his very best friend's little sister. In which case, yes, a personal visit to tell me he's not interested would probably be warranted.
Well, shit. Better sit down and get this over with, so I can work through my remaining humiliation in private once he leaves.
I plop down into the chair next to the couch, and I like to think that he looks a little disappointed by the move. Almost as if he wanted me next to him, our thighs pressing against each other, sharing our space and that little tantalizing bit of body heat.
Okay, no. Time to shut those thoughts down now before I make any more of a fool of myself with this particular man.
"What were you saying about an apology? Apology for what?" I cross my legs at the ankle to prevent my foot from jiggling. When I get nervous, I know I tend to jiggle my leg or foot, and I don't want him to get any of those nervous signals from me and drag this out any longer than he feels like he has to. Better to get it over with quickly. Like pulling off a band-aid.
He clears his throat, and is that a tiny bit of color in his cheeks? I swear I'm not trying to make this awkward, but why is Daniels blushing right now? It's kind of hot to tell the truth. I am always the one blushing, and to see him having this sort of reaction is giving me a little thrill right now.
"Lily, I'm sorry. I know I made a complete ass of myself last time. I probably don't even deserve for you to give me the opportunity to talk to you right now." He drops his head and runs his fingers through his dark, dark hair.
And there's a little teeny tiny part of me that's sorry that I'm not the one who's touching him, feeling the strands of his hair between my fingers. Would it be rough or smooth? Would it be slippery as silk? Or as rough as the hairs of his beard?
I lick my lips and his eyes flash to my mouth. Does that mean he's still interested in me somehow? I mean, that's a sign, right? Or do I have some toothpaste left on my face and that's what he's staring at? Why is everything about this entire encounter so incredibly awkward and yet also completely filled with boatloads of yearning and sexual tension?
