He rescheduled the date twice. At first, I suggested coffee and a walk on Sunday morning, but unfortunately, Declan doesn’t “believe in waking up to an alarm,” so he never commits to morning plans. That should have been my first red flag, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and meet him for dinner instead.
This is when I finally learned that giving someone the benefit of the doubt never benefitted me.
Throughout the entire meal, his eyes never made it north of my tits—which, if I’m honest, I can’t blame him—they are phenomenal. But then came the speech about his journey of “self-discovery” and how after four months of celibacy, he’s “finally ready to honor his body with release.”
That should have been where I drew the line in the sand. But what can I say? I’m not one to turn down the opportunity for a good shag. Plus, I was horny and stupidly optimistic—a dangerous cocktail. I hoped that he might actually be able to put his money where his mouth is and deliver in the bedroom. So, I went back to his flat, hoping he’d prove me wrong about being a complete waste of my time, and wouldn’t you know it? He came inside me after two disappointing pumps, then proceeded to tell me that our souls had just intertwined on a higher frequency.
I don’t think I’ve ever dressed and legged it out of a building so quickly. I scrubbed my skin raw as soon as I got home.
I cringe, tapping out of the message.I must remember to unmatch him.
“Ooft.” A deep sound reverberates through the space as I walk straight into something—no, scratch that—someone. My glove slips from my mouth and the lid pops off my cup, sending coffee splattering all over my victim’s shirt. My Danish and phone clatter to the floor, both covered in coffee, and the screen cracks on impact.
“Shit!” I say. “I’m so sorry!”
I look up, freezing as I come face-to-face with a pair of familiar crystal blue eyes.
My eyes narrow to slits as they land on the jerk from the train.
“You,” I say, accusatory.
He wipes his hands down the front of his shirt.
Oops, I’ve completely ruined it.
He flicks his fingers and droplets of coffee fly through the air, spattering onto my cream trench.
“You,” he replies, his voice equally low and cutting.
“Perfect,” I say, inspecting the brown dots on my coat. “There goes my bloody breakfast.”
“I know. I’m the lucky prick wearing it.”
I dramatically sweep my eyes over the foyer. “What happened to the pram?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You mean the one I had lodged up my rectum on the Tube?”
I click my tongue. “That’s the one. Did you manage to get it all the way inside this time? I imagine that would have been a difficult feat, considering how tight I’m certain your arse is.”
He releases a deep chuckle.
Shit. Even his laugh is hot.
No, traitorous vagina. You do not have a say in this.
I look up as his gaze drops to his shirt. It strikes me that he’s lost the suit jacket. The damp, stained fabric clings to his flat, taut stomach, accentuating a dusting of dark chest hair beneath.
Out of all the offices in the area, he had to be atmine.Why?
My stupid heart stutters, which is bloody annoying, because this guy is magnetic. It doesn’t happen often, but every now and then you lock eyes with someone and feel that pull—like gravity itself shifted and suddenly you’re the only two people in the room.
That’s exactly what this feels like.
I don’t know him, but he affects me. And I’ve just gone and spilt half my latte all over him. I didn’t get more than a few sips from of it, so I’m also pissed—that latte cost me half of my thirteen-pound breakfast, the rest of it currently swimming in a puddle on the floor.
I never lose my cool in front of a man. If anything, it’s the other way around. I’m confident and go after exactly what I want. And I’ll be damned if this stranger, just because he’s handsome, is the one to throw me.
I squat to collect my phone and soggy Danish. “Fuck,” I mutter, trying to hide the phone cover as I wipe the liquid off the screen, inspecting the damage.
