That voice. It’s like nectar—smooth and sweet. The hairs on the back of my neck spike up.
I’ve never been overly interested in women. I haven’t had the time. Sex is fun, but it’s been a while since I’ve been able to relax enough to enjoy a night with someone. My father loves to remind me that dating a woman won’t win me the NFL, and he’s right.
All it’ll gain me is more heat from the media. Questions. And I hate being questioned.
I slowly move towards the part of the store where Emmanuel and his customer are, the soft pop music playing through the speaker above clouding my footsteps.
Then, the customer laughs.
She fucking laughs, and my brows knit together, my jaw ticking. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. Melodic. Like a symphony. Every muscle in my body tenses as I round the corner, and I swallow harshly as I spot the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Tanned, smooth skin.
Hair the colour of honey, wavy and flowing over her bare shoulders.
A smattering of freckles dotted over her button nose.
A body with curves in all the right places, her hips hugged by a pair of skin-tight jeans that flare out at the bottom, accentuating her toned ass.
Her smile—bright and straight.
However, the grin isn’t quite reaching her almond-shaped eyes. It’s a smile that someone puts on to hide their anticipation. Their nerves. Their dread. Like a mask. It’s something I used to do every day until I gave up and finally allowed myself to accept how I truly feel.
Trapped.
The young woman gazes at me, shifting as she attempts to focus on whatever Emmanuel is saying about his wine selection. However, her eyes continue to flicker to my form, as if silently asking me why the hell I’m standing here, listening.
But there’s something else swirling inside of those irises. Curiosity, perhaps. Her gaze glides up and down my body, and judging by the slight flush to her cheeks, it’s clear she’s intrigued by what she sees.
The feeling is mutual.
Her fluffy eyebrows scrunch as she takes a large, sleek bottle from Emmanuel’s hands, hers delicate and small in comparison. “I can’t afford this one. Maybe something a little less… nice.” She drags her bottom plump lip into her mouth and clears her throat. Embarrassment doesn’t quite reach her face, but I can practically see her mind whirling—worried she’s entered a store with extortionate pricing.
I know I should walk away. Leave them to it. But it’s like my feet are stuck to the tiled flooring. I can’t help but stay put—just allow myself to enjoy the presence of the beautiful woman for a minute longer before she disappears, and I never see her again.
“Ah, yes, of course.” Emmanuel places the bottle back onto the shelf before clicking his fingers and mumbling to himself. He disappears around the corner, appearing to be looking for a specific wine he has in mind.
The woman watches me with interest before rolling her glossed lips together. She reaches for a bottle, spins it around and reads it.
Why the fuck are her lips so tempting to me?
I need to pull my head out of the gutter.
“That one’s not good,” I say, and she raises her eyebrows at me, taken aback by my comment. I nod my head toward the wine bottle she’s holding. “Or so I’ve heard.”
I’m never usually the type of person to talk to strangers, but for some stupid reason, in the comfort of Emmanuel’s store, the words tumble out of my mouth with fluidity.
She laughs again, and the sound goes straight through me. “Good to know.” Her chin dips in a simple nod. “I like that men are breaking the stereotypes and drinking wine now. It gets them in touch with their… softer side.” A humorous smile reaches her pink lips as she places the bottle back on the shelf. She shrugs. “Or, so I’ve heard.”
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth at her joke, a small chuckle desperate to come out, but I don’t grant it permission. Instead, I settle for a curve of my lip.
But I lower my eyes as her bag droops from her shoulder, and as she attempts to sling it back over, it clips a bottle on the shelf.
It tumbles to the ground and smashes into a thousand pieces, the sound causing her to jump. A small yelp escapes the young woman’s mouth, and I can see the cogs turning in her head as she glances down with parted lips and an irritated face.
“Fuck me,” she mutters as she shakes her head from side to side.
The wine she’s knocked off the shelf is expensive, and judging by her paling face and hopeless eyes, she can’t afford it.
