“Best of my life.”
Those last four words slipped out easily, but I couldn’t find it within myself to wish they hadn’t.
Call it…wishful thinking.
If the blush rising to her cheeks and the smile she worked so hard to hold back was any indication, Delia was more than a little pleased by my words. I preened with the knowledge.
Thankfully, she had no idea I’d been checking her out, but as I hustled her off the job site so I could take her somewhere to ice her hand, I didn’t miss the way Jay smirked at me.
Clearly, he’d seen the whole damn thing.
But as long as Delia remained blissfully unaware, I didn’t give a fuck who caught onto the fact that I was down bad for this girl—the situation growing more dire by the day.
Besides, while I’d been busy ogling her that day, she’d been sitting on a particularly, for lack of a better word,sexyphoto of me. As it turned out, I hadn’t been the only one checking out my partner’s goods.
As soon as I’d seen the picture pop up on our Instagram, I called Delia.
“What the hell is that?” I asked unceremoniously when she answered.
“What the hell is what?” she replied sweetly, feigning innocence.
“Don’t play dumb, Whiskey. It’s not cute.”
“I’m assuming you’ve been lurking on our social profiles,” she said with a laugh.
I ground my teeth together. “Yes.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem, Delia,” I said, her name akin to a curse word, “is that you’re objectifying me!”
She scoffed. “Please, QB. No one has a body like that unless they want people to see it. Not to mention you’re literally fully clothed!”
“I maintain my physique because I don’t know any other way to live,” I said because it was the truth
“Suuuuuuuure,” she replied sarcastically.
“What happened to not including me in any content? You promised.”
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, sobering instantly. “If you want me to take it down, I will. Just say the word.”
Wasthat what I wanted? Admittedly, our follower count had grown drastically, and I’d be an idiot to think it had nothing to do with me. After all, I’d seen the notifications, and the comments kind of made my skin crawl. This must be how women felt all the time, when men objectified them simply because they couldn’t control themselves.
“I don’t like the way the women are talking about me. Like I’m an…object.”
“I really am sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think…”
I sighed heavily. To be fair, my face wasn’t even in the shot, and as Delia had pointed out, Iwasfully clothed. Taken from the back, my arms were raised overhead, back muscles flexed and pulling my white tee taut. My Levi’s hung low on my hips and molded to my backside. Above the waist, the black band of my boxer briefs and the dimples at the base of my spine were visible where my shirt had ridden up. My forearms were corded from the strain, my biceps bulging, truly testing the limits of that cotton. My Lawless Ranch ball cap was flippedbackward on my head, the white logo highlighted on the faded maroon fabric in the midday sun.
The caption read, “QB’s still got it.”
So even though my face wasn’t visible, thanks to Delia, everyone knew it was me anyway.
If I were a woman, I could see my allure—and they certainly did. The comments were full of drooling faces and fire emojis, and our DMs were clogged with more of the same.
It was…a lot.
At least none of my tattoos were showing. I had a feeling that the sight of my ink would bring out a whole different level of feral from our female followers.
