I want you to kiss me.
Of course, I don’t admit this. “Last I checked, you aren’t my priest,” I retort with a dry laugh as I yank my hand away from his substantial…member.
“No, I’m your antihero, Charlotte. You made damn sure of that.”
“Too bad I didn’t make you my Houdini. At least then, you could have made yourself disappear.”
Rhys’s laughter is harsh as he shoves me away. “Clever, but you can’t get rid of me.” He strolls to the edge of the river, and I hate that I like how everything about him is massive and formidable. Powerful—but in a thrilling way. “You brought me here, Charlotte, now you’re stuck with me for four and a half days.”
I guess each hour counts when the days are limited.
Four and a half days with this gorgeous man. I’ll think of it as a sort of staycation—only with a living, breathing book boyfriend.
Best part?
No strings attached.
“Okay, sure. Whatever. Fuck it.” I hold out my hand for Rhys to shake. “Let’s do this. Deal.”
“Deal.” Rhys’s large hand engulfs mine. He pumps it once but doesn’t let go. He tugs me forward, colliding our chests. His lips hover over mine as he growls, “You owe me an apology for making me sleep out in the rain like a fucking dog.”
Then he seals our deal with a scorching kiss, one that leaves me breathless and spinning—and suddenly glad I downloaded that app.
Chapter Seven
“Asix-foot-five antihero is showering in my bathroom.”
This is the weirdest sentence I have ever spoken—and I do say this out loud. To no one. Needing to speak the words to my empty living room because it’s absurd to whisper inside the privacy of my mind. I’m half-tempted to call my one friend, Brooklyn Ross, and tell her about Rhys, but honestly, I’m afraid she’ll think I’ve gone insane. Could I blame her? Absolutely not. I’m living an impossible reality, and the best course of action is…
…to take no action.
Pretend Rhys is just some random new guy I met and leaveit at that.
On the way back to my house after our ‘talk’ by the Delaware River, we stopped at Target to buy him clothes. Rhys shopping is my new favorite shitshow. It was the equivalent of watching an elephant figure skating. He hated everything that wasn’t black or dark gray. The problem is that we’re in a tiny town in the mountains, and pickings are slim.
Dude is here for a week.
Rule is that he gets what he gets and doesn’t get upset.
Unfortunately, he didn’t know the rule, and he got pissed. There I was, driving his grumpy ass to the mall over in Glendale. Upside? We found a cute little coffee shop. I sipped my new favorite drink, an espresso-something with mocha and oat milk.
Rhys woofed down two venti black coffees.
How he isn’t still wired and bouncing off the walls is a mystery, but okay?
Now, he’s upstairs washing his ass in my shower.
And what a fine ass it is. You can bounce a quarter off that thing. Great. Now, my brain is hyper-focused on his amazing body, and that sends me spiraling down a rabbit hole. I can’t imagine it’s common for a book boyfriend to pop out of an app. So, while Rhys is busy doing his thing in my bathroom, I’m here scrolling on my phone, doing a deeper dive on the internet—notthinking about the kiss by the river.
Nope, not at all.
Or the gigantic erection that bulged in his pants when he made me cup his crotch.
I’m absolutely not thinking about that as I scroll away on the internet, finding nothing about Cupid’s The Book Boyfriends.Defeated, I return to the app and more brick walls because most areas remain closed?—
“JesusChrist, Rhys!” I drop my legs off the coffee table and toss my phone. Squeezing my eyes closed, I slam a hand over them for good measure. “Is there something wrong with your clothes?”
Every nook and cranny of his phenomenally muscular physique is scorched into my brain, right down to his perfect pinkie toes. Oh, how I’d love to play Ferdinand Magellan and leisurely explore his body, examining each tattoo, planting a figurative flag on him to claim him as my own.
