“I don’t want him to be mine,” I argue. “He’s a stranger.”
“A hot stranger who auctioned himself off. You’d be insulting him if you didn’t go out with him. That and wasting a lot of money.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t deny it.
Because this man is not like the others.
For one, he was fully clothed to start with. While most of them came slinking onto the stage shirtless (one of them literally walked out in nothing but black boxer-briefs), this guy, thismanwas just one jacket short of a three-piece suit.
Not only that, but he’s older than the others.
Much older.
But not in a bad way…
His thick, dark hair was styled, not messed, unlike the boys that preceded him. And as he turned his head to survey the room, flecks of silver caught in the overhead lights.
His jawline wasn’t cocky, it was confident. Mature.
But his body.
His body was something to be reckoned with. Beneath the fitted Armani suit was the hint of a solid torso, tight from disciplined routine.
And don’t get me started on his forearms.
I may not be a girl who gets around much but I am a slut for a decent pair of forearms.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Kate runs her tongue across her upper teeth with a smile.
“I am thinking about the predicament you got me into,” I huff with rosy cheeks. And I know she knows I am lying. And bothered. Fuck sister to sister telepathy. “I don’t even remember his name.”
“It was Cal,” she says straightening my dress. And by straightening I mean, she is tugging it down in the front to further expose my tits that are already popping.
Cal? That’s not his real name. It doesn’t fit him. It’s not bold enough. Cal sounds like the name of a fuckboy, trust fund baby.
This man has the chiseled jaw and stone eyes of a man who has worked for every brick in his empire.
I wonder how rough his hands are…
And just like that, I am thinking of him again.
His skin is a tan, but not from the sun. It’s a natural olive. And unlike the waxed man-babies before him, there’s a soft patch of hair on his stony pecks that trails down south.
Unpopular opinion: I do love a subtle happy trail…
He’s also got patchwork tattoos, on his shoulders, on his chest, one on his ribs, and what appears to be raven wings on his back.
“You’re doing it again,” Kate practically sings, pulling me from my daydream again.
“I am not!” I snap.
“Say what you want, but he’s coming this way.”
I turn around, maybe too quickly.
A guy with long, shaggy hair in a leather jacket and faded skinny jeans is grinning a nasty boy grin and headed right for us.
Behind him, is Cal.
