Page 35 of The Best Men
That’s what I need. Some TV distraction.
Although I’m not sure this show will have the right effect on me. Valencia and I are a little obsessed with checking out the spin-off ofArchibald Lane, a period piece that was all the rage on Webflix last year. The show was good, but there was one particular storyline I glommed onto, and it included a smoking-hot kiss that made it to the top of my spreadsheet. 1A.
The kiss continues, supposedly, in the spin-off.
I promise her a full review, then put my phone down.
When Asher hangs up, he meets my gaze. “Food will be here in thirty,” he says, and is it just me, or do his eyes drift down my chest, lingering there, right there, on my pecs?
I want to do the same to him—to give him a long, lingering eye fuck. But doing that also terrifies me. I take risks with gobs of money every day. I have iron balls when the market is volatile. When it comes to men? My risk tolerance is at the level of a CD. Better yet, a savings account earning .01 percent.
“What did you order?” I ask, since that’s the savings account question, and that’s how I’m playing things tonight.
“Mexican. It’s spicy. I didn’t ask if you like spice. My bad,” he says, cocking his head to the side like he’s studying me once again. “Do you like spice?”
His words say one thing, but his tone saysdo you like sex and would you like it with me?
Or am I just hoping he’s going fishing again? Maybe it’s more than hope, especially since his hazel eyes glimmer with something that feels a lot like rabid curiosity.
“Yeah, I do,” I tell him, and just like that, I’m vibrating with lust once again.
A feeling I already tried to get under control.
But it keeps slipping away from me.
* * *
Twenty-nine minutes later his phone buzzes. “Bet it’s the restaurant,” he remarks, but when he slides open the screen, a line digs into his forehead. “Shit,” he murmurs.
I straighten my spine. “What’s wrong?” Better not be something with the wedding.
“It’s the DJ. Tomorrow’s all booked up,” he says. “He’ll try to see us on Thursday.”
I grimace. “That’s too far away.”
“I know, but we’ll figure it out,” he says, right as his phone beeps again, and he heads off to greet the delivery guy. Where he’ll probably strike up a conversation, memorize the guy’s children’s names and tip fifty percent.
Pink streaks paint the sky when Asher returns a few minutes later with dinner, and a bottle of wine. I don’t touch the wine, but the food is good.
And when we’re done, the sky is dark. The moon is casting silver light across his face. I look at the time. Eight-forty. Perfect. I don’t even have to tell him I’m cutting out early to watch a sexy-as-fuck TV show. I’ve got the kid excuse.
“I should go,” I say, gesturing to the cottage.
“Do you have an inflation index to adjust?”
“Yes, St. James. I’m magic with inflation. I can make it disappear.” Just like inconvenient boners. “I need to call Rosie. I promised I’d call her every night at eight forty-five,” I tell him.
“See you in the morning.”
I leave the pool and open the door to the guest house, a little relieved. I made it through the first day in Miami with the sexiest man I’ve ever known.
And he has no idea I’m thinking of him naked.
I’d call that a win.
12
I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE
