“Holy cow,” Priya gasps, her mouth hanging open. “He’s totally trying to fuck you.”
I nearly spit out my drink. “What? No, he’s not! There are plenty of other options at the office, trust me.”
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t hitting on you.” She smirks. “Maybe he’s got a thing for amnesiacs.”
The words of protest die on my lips. I’m not the best at figuring out what men are thinking.
WasWolfe hitting on me? That voice of his. It was sinfully sexy. His words felt as if they were tickling my clit.
But then, why on earth would he?
What did he say about his relationship status? “I asked him if he was seeing anyone and he was pretty evasive.”
“Men like him always are. He’s probably hiding a wife and ten kids.”
An odd feeling bubbles inside me. The idea of him being off the market bothers me more than I care to admit. It’s ridiculous, I know, but a small part of me wants him to be available.
Stupid.
I’m ashamed to say I did a little cyber-sleuthing before meeting the girls. Internet searches brought up pictures of him with beautiful, classy women but it was hard to tell if they were girlfriends.
“He asked me if I wanted to get a bite to eat,” I tell them, avoiding eye contact.
“Like on adate?” Libby shrieks so forcefully, I feel a gust on my face.
I snort. “Hardly. I think he was hungry, and I was conveniently in his vicinity. No, I’m the opposite of his type,” I say dismissively.
Priya nods, giving me a once-over. “True… you’re probably not his type. Gorgeous but too geeky for someone like Wolfe.”
“You don’t have to be so quick to agree with me.” I scowl and look at Libby for support but she just gives me an apologetic shrug.
The nagging voice in my head, a pesky, persistent guest, pops up again… What if JPhadmade a move in the car?
A surge of excitement zaps through me. An image of me blowing him in his Aston Martin as he drives down Sixth Avenue flashes through my head.
Jesus, why did I gothere?
I smirk to myself and shake off the silly thoughts.
Priya lifts a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “Please tell me you at least got some good gossip while trapped in the car with him.”
I think back to what he said about wellness retreats. That was a surprise. He seems like the type of man toscoff at wellness stuff. I can’t picture him in the downward dog position.
In fact, he seemed uptight even talking about it, which was a bit of a juxtaposition. Shifting in his seat and clearing his throat, as if loving wellness retreats carries shame like frequenting BDSM clubs.
But I can’t tell the girls that.
“Well, you won’t believe this, but he’s actually into K-pop,” I say, unable to suppress a laugh. “I caught him listening to one of my favorite girl groups on the way home.”
Priya looks revolted. “No way. My respect for him just plummeted.”
Libby frowns. “He doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d dance around to K-pop.”
No, he does not.
He looks more like a guy who would be into that Nine Inch Nails song about fucking like animals.
Our long-awaited cheese arrives.
