Page 17 of Hopeless Romantic
Oh, they’d found a quiet corner together. Chatted a bit, flirted even more. Then she excused herself for a moment, making the champagne-toasting ceremony nothing more than a party of one.
“I’m not giving her the key to my boat. Just buying the lady some groceries.”
“A man offers to do a busy woman’s shopping? That’s pretty much foreplay.”
“Aw, come on, Annie. I can never unhear that.” Levi cringed. “I’d rather google ‘pearl applicator’ than hear you say the word ‘foreplay’ ever again. All I need is her number—then I can get out of here and burn my phone.”
Annie read off Beckett’s number, laughing the entire time. Levi jotted it on his arm, then thanked Annie and disconnected before she could list off more domestic favors that turn women on. Not that he wasn’t interested in the inside knowledge; he just didn’t want to hear it from his best friend’s fiancée.
He dialed and was convinced it was going to go to voice mail when Beckett answered. “Who is this?”
Her accusatory tone said she already knew who it was. “Miss you too.”
“How did you get my number?”
“Annie. I needed to know, uh, what kind of tampons do you want?”
“Playtex is fine.” And she was gone.
Levi found the Playtex section and—holy shit—there were even more choices than in a mattress store. When he didn’t see a “ribbed for her pleasure,” he considered getting a multipack and calling it a day. But he’d said he’d take care of her, and he wasn’t about to be taken down by something calledgentle glide.
He redialed, and she answered on the first ring. “I forgot to ask. Applicator, no applicator, pearl applicator?”
“Any applicator is fine.”
“Just curious, what do you do without an applicator?”
“Oh my god, just get going!” She hung up, but he could tell she was smiling.
He plucked the first box he saw, then froze and immediately called her back.
“Jesus, they come in sizes,” he said by way of greeting. “Am I allowed to ask you your size, or is it like asking a guy if he wears Trojan XXL?”
“Normal is fine.”
“Huh.” In his world, no guy would ever admit to normal. Not that Levi had that problem. But, shit, what if she now thought he had that problem? He was about to assure her that he did not, in fact, have any problems down there, when she spoke.
“Any more questions?”
He had so many, he didn’t know where to start. Beckett was quirky and cute, and one big, hot mess. A sexy one, he’d give her that, but flaky people drove him nuts. And she was flakier than the box of frosted cereal in his basket.
Levi liked uncomplicated and casual. Which brought him to the next problem: There wasn’t a casual bone in that tall, willowy, smoking-hot body of hers. When he watched her with her brother, it was clear—when Beckett loved, she loved hard. That tough-girl act provided armor to protect her from future heartache. But any guy lucky enough to breach those walls was in there for life.
And standing there with a box of tampons, playing the part of some damn hero-to-the-rescue, he wondered how it would feel to be that guy.
Sadly, his life would soon set sail in a different direction, so he simply asked, “Scented or unscented?”
Chapter 5
Beckett was feeling accomplished.
She’d managed to make it three days without running into Levi, had finished with her last regular for the week, and had picked up two orders of takeout—pizza for her family and Thai for the Carmichaels—which left twenty minutes to give Gregory a bubble bath and Brazilian blowout.
Today was to be Gregory’s first overnight with his fur-ever family. Beckett’s job was to ensure that her feathered friend was primped and peacock-ready for his big moment. Like any successful first date, crafting the right initial impression was imperative. It was the first and most important opportunity for Gregory and his prospective companion to bond, and it would determine when the final rehoming would take place.
Everything had to go smoothly.
After a bath that left Beckett covered in suds, and an uneventful session with the blow-dryer that left Gregory a little damp under the bustle, Beckett quickly crafted a bow tie out of an old bra-clasp and one of her dad’s unused ties. Except her client had flown the coop.
