Page 19 of Only the Wicked
My nose crinkles reflexively. “Not like that,” I say.
He barks out a laugh. “What’s that?”
“Granola. That’s what you’re thinking, right? No, I mean, I force myself to do yoga at least once a week for stretching. To avoid injury.” It’s an approach my lacrosse coach drilled into me—the healthy way to remain fit.
“Smart,” he says, lifting his water and taking a sip.
I scratch an itch on my collarbone and add another point I suspect he’ll relate to. “I have a hard time relaxing on vacation.”
“I get that,” he says, nodding.
“When I first got out of college, I hated weekends. Still went into the office.” I hold up a hand. “I know, we said no work talk, but…”
“And now here you are on vacation.”
“Listening to music and hanging out by the pool.”
“What kind of music?”
“Depends on my mood. Today was alternative rock. Foo Fighters, actually.” His eyes light up.
“Seriously?”
“You’re a fan?”
“Dave Grohl’s a legend,” he says with genuine enthusiasm, and once again, I’m grateful I prepped.
His ex shared a photo of them at a concert in Washington state, shaking hands with Dave Grohl himself and the caption, “The Greatest Day of Rhodes’ Life.”
“What about you?”
The server stops by, interrupting us, and Rhodes orders a bottle of wine, and we end up ordering appetizers and entrees all at once, while a sommelier returns with the wine. As Rhodes tastes and approves it, I study his profile. The confident way he handles every interaction, from the hostess to the sommelier. The slight smile that never quite leaves his lips when he looks at me.
When we’re alone again, I lean forward. “Okay, seriously. Favorite vacation activities?”
“Oh, now that’s a loaded question.” His smirk carries a promise that makes my pulse quicken. “You sure you want me to be honest?”
I’d be lying if I didn’t say his confident, at-ease persona didn’t ooze sex appeal. Hell, with those black frames, he’s hot as fuck.
I open my mouth, prepped to probe.
“Sex,” he answers, and the way his dark eyes cut straight, head-on, strikes a match on my starved libido. “Hands down, my favorite activity.”
“Ah.” I lift my glass of water, momentarily speechless, but wise or not, the real Syd slips out. “Sex. Most powerful word in the English language. Makes the world go round.”
His lips purse, and his eyes gleam with amusement, and maybe something else. Anticipation.
I set the glass down. My skin burns. His gaze doesn’t break. With this tiny bit of innuendo, I find myself squeezing my thighs and taking deeper breaths. I swallow.
Focus.
If anyone can crack him, you can.
“I hope I’m not being too forward. Honesty is the best policy, right?”
I swear, the way he’s looking at me, my heart stops beating for a split-second.
Be real. What am I thinking? Work this.
