Page 54 of Perfectly Naïve
“Your dinner,” I tell him, lowering to my heels and grabbing the bag. “Is there a break room?” He nods and starts to lead me away, but I catch his arm. “Maybe you should close the garage door.”
“Good call.” He presses the button, and the door begins to lower. “Maybe I should hire you.”
I chuckle. “I don’t have the muscle.”
“That can be gained.”
“I don’t know if grease looks as good on me as it does on you.”
He smirks at me over his shoulder. “It would.”
My cheeks heat, but if he notices, Hayes doesn’t say a word. He holds the door to the main lobby open. There’s a small break room in the back with a table and four chairs, a microwave, a coffee pot that’s seen better days, and a mini fridge.
The bag crinkles when I set it down. “I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for. I brought the soup Wilder made tonight, a sandwich, and leftover spaghetti.”
“And my snack cakes?” He reaches for one.
I grab it and set it where he can’t reach. “Dinner first.”
Laughing, the sound deep and full, he concedes. “Whatever you say, vixen. I’ll take the soup and sandwich.”
“I’m not sure why you call me that,” I confess. “I’m not very sexy.”
“I think you are,” he murmurs, hand finding my hip. “The thing that makes you so sexy is the fact that you have no idea that you are.”
Pressing my eyebrows together, I glance at him. “That makes no sense.”
He shrugs. “Does it have to? I’m attracted to you, isn’t that enough?”
“I guess.” I place the soup in the microwave and set the time. “But there has to be some universal trait that defines sexiness. Biology is very clear about these things. Take birds, for example?—”
“Birds?”
I nod. “Birds. The prettiest males attract the most mates.”
“You’re pretty.”
Averting my gaze, I continue. “According to my mother, I’m not.”
“Liv. Look at me.”
Slowly, I shift my eyes to meet his. His serious expression makes me swallow. He closes the distance between us, and I have to tip my head to maintain eye contact. “You. Are. Beautiful.”
“I—”
He silences me with a kiss. My pulse starts to race, blood roaring through my ears. “No. There’s no debate. Forget whatever your mother said. You’re gorgeous. Okay?”
My cheeks were already warm, but now they’re practically on fire. “Okay.” How can I argue with him when he’s so convincing?
Humming, he searches my face, as if memorizing every part. “Don’t let someone who clearly doesn’t understand your worth change your opinion of yourself.”
The microwave dings and he steps back. A chill races down my spine, and I long for the heat from his body. He gives me a knowing look, and my stomach does a little flip. These men met me weeks ago, yet I can’t help feeling like they know me better than I know myself.
I grab the soup, steam curling from the glass bowl. He takes a seat, and I sit beside him, handing him a spoon. “Eat.”
“So demanding,” he mumbles, but his lips twitch as he accepts the spoon.
While he eats, I study the break room. There’s a car calendar, a clock, and a few pictures. “Who’s that?”
