“I know someone.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, pushing away the uncomfortable feeling I get when I picture him hanging out with models.
“Cat.” His eyes glimmer with amusement. “I’m talking aboutyou.”
“What? I’m not a model. I’m too short, too fat, and not even—”
“Okay, for a start, you’re none of those things. But what I mean is these are your designs and they suit your personality. It would be cool to see you model them, for your own business.”
I shake my head firmly. “No way. I would never—I mean, I’d feel stupid. I’d look—”
“Great,” he finishes for me, the side of his mouth kicking up in a grin. “You’d look great. Just think about it, okay?”
I turn back to the dress, trying to imagine myself modeling it for my website. He’s right about them looking better on a model, but me? I’m not so sure. “Maybe,” I mumble, reaching for my purse. “Do you mind if I head home, then?”
“Of course.” He hangs a new dress on the wall. “I wasn’t even expecting to see you this evening. It was a nice surprise.” His brow furrows into a frown. “Except for the whole Shane thing. Sorry about that.”
“Stop apologizing for something another guy did.”
He lifts his shoulder. “I guess I’m just apologizing for men everywhere. They’re awful.”
“That they are.”
“You know,” he murmurs beside me, “if you ever need help with… any of that stuff, you just have to let me know.”
“That stuff?” I glance up at him, puzzled.
He chuffs a laugh, holding his camera to his eye again. “Yeah. If it’s been that long, and you want someone who is going to treat you with respect and make you feel good…” he trails off, leaving me to fill in the blanks as he clicks a photo.
“Are you suggesting we have sex?” As I say the words, I’m surprised to feel heat uncurl and spread through my belly. Apparently my body likes the idea, and for a fleeting moment, I consider it.
He shrugs, lowering the camera and turning to me. “I’m pretty good.” Then he shoots me his trademark self-assured grin and I snap out of it.
“Sure you are.” I force a laugh, squeezing my thighs together. I’m quite sure hewouldbe good in bed, actually. I expect he has a lot of experience. Pulling my purse onto my shoulder, I turn for the door. “Thanks for the offer, Myles, but I think for now I’ll just stick with your business services.”
He chuckles, raising his camera again. “Suit yourself.”
16
It’s been three days since my Shane date, and every time I think back to it, I smile. Not because of Shane, obviously, but because of Myles. After everything that happened, I still went home with a smile on my face.
I mean, okay, he offered me sex. And that was weird. And I definitely haven’t thought about it multiple times since.
Anyway, I’m not stupid enough to sleep with him, no matter how desperate I might be. I may as well just sleep with Mark again if I’m going to do that. And I certainly won’t be doingthat.
But—before the offer of intercourse—Myles was sweet, listening to me blather on. So I thought I’d finally do the things I’ve been meaning to do, to pay him back for all his help. I made two dresses for his daughter, and a couple of things for his apartment. I had to take an Uber over here just to bring everything.
Setting down several carrier bags on his doorstep, I raise a hand to knock. Over one arm is a garment bag with the dresses. I hope he likes them—or rather, his daughter likes them. I had to guess the sizing, but it will be easy enough to adjust once she’s tried them on. It was fun making them, actually; I’m definitely going to create a child’s line on my new site.
I shift the garment bag to the other arm, knocking again. Where is he? I’m sure he told me to come at two o’clock.
The door swings open and Myles stands there, grinning. He’s wearing nothing but a towel, his bare torso gleaming with water.
I almost drop the garment bag.
“Sorry, was just in the shower,” he says, stepping aside for me to enter.
But I’m frozen to the spot, my eyes betraying me as they roam shamelessly over his form. He’s lean, with the slightest definition in all the right places. On his chest is a little patch of hair, tapering down to his navel, trailing down below the towel. And his tattoo isn’t just his arm; it stretches up over his shoulder and across half of his chest. It’s intricate and detailed and for one hideous second I almost step closer to inspect it, to trace it with my fingertip.
