I want to rake my fingers through her hair, pull her close until we’re chest to chest, and mouth to mouth, but she’s already backing off. “You get bored, call me.”
And she shoots the sexiest pair of finger guns at me I’ve ever seen. Might be the only pair I’ve ever seen. I can’t say I remember, but if that kind of thing has the power to make a guy want more than i already do, it does.
All the way back to her table, I watch her. There’s some satisfaction in knowing she only needed to get my number but asked for a kiss instead, but the little guy inside of me that is jumping up and down screaming right now for me to go get her and take her back to my place isn’t impressed withsomesatisfaction. He wants her eyes rolling back and my name on her lips while her legs tighten around my hips and I’m pounding into her. Nothing else is gonna make him happy.
When she wrangles her friends out of the bar about ten minutes later with nothing more than a glance in my direction, I’m crushed. Only a glimmer of hope survives. She still has my number. And I have hers. There’s always a chance.
And then, as I’m driving one way, and Hunter is heading the other, I’m not more than a few blocks from home but pull off the road because my phone has pinged in my pocket and the vibration against my thigh is compelling enough for me to stop and have a look. Plus, my little guy is hopeful. So fucking hopeful.
BELLE: Your body is the kind of hot women like to lick all night long.
Everything goes tight. Every muscle. Every cell. Every thought.
For about ten or fifteen seconds. And all I can do is imagine. I have a killer imagination. This keeps up, my dock is going to be able to apply the hand brake.
BELLE: Sorry. Friend got my phone. Have to kill her now.
My body deflates. Nothing like an explanation to ruin a visual good enough I was gonna need to jerk offandtake a cold shower before this thing had a chance of going down.
ME: Damn
Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete.
I’m sitting on the side of the road with the bike idling while I stare at a white screen and have no idea what to say. Any other chick, I would offer to be her lollipop anyway, tell her that her friend has the right idea and we should give it a try. Something tells me this one isn’t going to buy my lines.
This woman is different and I want her with an intensity that could cause a Walker-implosion on the curb where Main Street and Shore Break Avenue meet on the way to the lake.
ME:
The screen mocks me. Pokes fun. I hear actual laughing. And it’s killing my vibe.
ME: Sweet dreams.
I’m lame as fuck, but I hit send and drive home. Nothing more to be done here tonight. Not that involves anything I can do in public.
CHAPTERFIVE
BELLE
Seven AM the next morning my phone dings and I turn over to grab it off the table because hope springs eternal when a girl doesn’t have a chance. And I can’t help it.
I glanced at the screen and my head starts a steady tap dance against my sternum.
Walker: Good morning, beautiful.
I could fall in love with a man who punctuates. But I don’t know how to reply. I sit up in bed, rub my eyes, glance out the window wishing for inspiration. All I see is blinding light. I have a second story apartment, and the sun is eye level.
Instead of grumbling, I turn away, thumbs poised for a reply. Brain not quite there yet.
I leave the phone on the bed and place for a second, wishing I could channel some of Maisie’s charm. She would know exactly what to say.
I, on the other hand, am clueless because I want this too much. I even dreamed of it, but damned if I can remember what dream me would’ve or maybe even did reply.
Shit. I’m waiting too long. Am way too slow.
ME: Hi.
And I can’t be more lame. He’s godly. And worldly. A girl can just tell about a guy like that. Won’t be impressed withhi.
