Page 64 of Lovebug
“No? No... no! Why would you think that?”
“You leaned toward me, your adorable little nostrils flared—twice—and… your eyes are still closed as though you’re caught up in olfactory enjoyment.”
Olfactory? What kind of a guy uses a word like olfactory? Oh shoot, he’s right. My eyes are still closed. I shoot them open and realize how close we’ve gotten. So close I can see the specks of silver in his clear blue eyes.
“How do I smell?” he rumbles.
I hesitate. I stare at his specks. His sparkly, sparkly specks.
“Mabel?”
“Terrible,” I blurt.
“I smell terrible?”
“Yep. Just awful.” I take an exaggerated inhale when a woman walks past us toward the restroom. “Bleh. Ugh. This guy stinks to hell. Who invited this guy?” I point at him and wave my hand around my nose, all for this lady’s benefit. She gives me a confused look and continues on her way.
I’m lying, of course. This man smells delicious.
He sniffs his armpit, an action that should be gross, but somehow it’s not. It’s… hot?
“Damn. And I put in an effort too. Showered, combed my hair. Wore my big boy pants and everything.”
I take in his clothes. His “big boy pants” are dark blue jeans that look like they were made for him. He has his regular work boots on, but if I’m not mistaken, he cleaned them up a bit, and the button-up light blue denim shirt he’s wearing has the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Apparently, this is a thing, this exposed forearm thing on men. I was feeling like a bad friend, so I’ve finally started reading Calliope’s dino romances. After the third novella in a row where the male dinosaur rolled his sleeves up, inevitably leading the lady dino to go crazy with lust—yes, Calliope’s dinosaur characters wear clothes—I asked her about it. “Oh, Mabes,” she said. “Forearms may as well be called fuck-arms. They are the gateways to all things sexy on a man.”
I had no idea.
Until now.
Looking at Wally, I am in complete agreement with Calliope. Forearmsshouldbe called fuck-arms.
I’m snapped out of my fuck-arm trance by my phone vibrating in my pocket. “Oooh!” I squeak to attention and realize I was unabashedly staring at him. My pocket continues to buzz.
“You need to get that?” He gestures toward my hip.
I pluck out my phone, take a quick look, and hit decline. “No. No, I do not.” What I need is to get things de-escalated with this guy, stat. “Wallace,” I say, putting my head counselor voice on.
“Aw, what happened to Wally? I was starting to like that.”
“Wallace.” I repeat. “I’m starting to think you misunderstood my message earlier.”
“When you shoved your tongue down my throat? Nah, I got that message loud and clear, darlin’.”
“Shh! Shh! Shhhhhhhh!” I put my hand to his mouth to silence him, and we both freeze.
When I feel those pillowy lips beneath my fingertips, I’m taken right back to the way they felt against my own. I drop my hand and whip around to see if anyone is watching. We’re alone. For the moment.
When I turn back to him, he’s smiling. His eyes are twinkling. It’s beautiful and infuriating.
“I, uh… I already apologized for the lapse in judgment this afternoon. You did not consent to that, um… to that…”
“Kiss, Mabel.” He finishes the sentence for me. “It’s called a kiss.”
“Shhhhhh! SHHH!” I spin around again to scope out our surroundings, then lower my voice to a whisper. “Right. A kiss. You did not consent to that kiss.”
“No, I did not.”
“I took advantage of you at that moment.”
