Fuckme, am I trying.
“Had I properly introduced myself like I wanted…” his deliciously large frame gradually creeps closer to mine, “I would’ve told you to call me Thayne.”
“The boys call you Groff or Groffee.”
“And the most important people in my life have always called me Thayne.”
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip barely blocks the whimper the statement conjures.
Ohhhhhh, this is bad.
This is so very bad.
This is cancelled my new favorite show in the middle of its first season level of bad.
I shouldn’t be swooning.
I should be ripping the wings off the butterflies swarming around my stomach with dental forceps.
“Thayne…” is thoughtlessly spoken in a faint whisper that has his muscular frame buckling similar to mine.
“You want me on knees, Gillybean?” The breathless question turns me into the same. “”Cause that’s how you get me there.”
Okay, when I put in a plot twist request to my life writers, this wasn’t what I meant!
I was asking for a cute barista to scribble his number on my to-go cup, not for the man of my dreams to be completely off-limits.
And he is!
He absolutely fucking is!
Thayne places his free palm against the door beside my head and coos, “I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you…”
Instinct has me wanting to echo the sentiment, yet logic drills holes in it. “How did I not even consider you were a player? How did I not put the word choices together? How did I not just recognize you?!” The pinching of my brow is followed by a heavy, annoyed sigh. “Why do you all look so damn different out in the wild?! It’s like a fucking bait and switch situation!”
Loud, carefree laughs I never thought I’d hear again hit my ears with so much force that I’m left with no choice but to reach out.
Touch it.
His chest.
Allow the vibrations to rattle against my palm until every ounce of resistance has faded.
Completely dissolved.
“I want you to go out with me,” he adoringly declares at the same time he removes his other hand from his pocket in order to let his fingers sweetly rest on top of mine. “Tonight. Tomorrow night. Any night.” They sweetly curl. “Every night.”
“I um…” my gaze makes the mistake of stealing a glimpse of the romantic cradling action I’ve never had, “I don’t think…” Another squeeze of his fingers has my shoulders further sagging during my proclamation. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Scrunching my nose mindlessly occurs. “No. Iknowthat’s not a good idea.”
“Why?”
“You mean aside from the fact you’re like a whole moody teen girl younger than me?”
“Love’s like music, Gillybean. It can transcend decades.”
“Okay, first of all,one decade– and a little change – baby teeth.” My sassiness gets him snickering. “And second, why do you keep calling me Gillybean?”
“’Cause it’s likejellybeans.”
