Her green eyes go to my abdominals that I’ve worked relentlessly to get. Growing up, I’d been a lanky kid and got bullied for my chicken legs and scrawny arms. If my bullies could see me now, they’d run the other way.
“My eyes are up here, baby girl,” I tease, gesturing her locked gaze upward until her red face darkens and she winces at getting caught.
It’s not the first time I’ve been ogled and certainly won’t be the last. I like her focus on me. A little too much.
“So…muffin? I have a secret sweet tooth, so I like chocolate chips in them. But I’d accept anything at this point. Even a dry-ass corn one.”
One of my eyebrows pops up when she gapes at me. Is she breathing? I’d hate to be the reason for oxygen deprivation that will inevitably kill her brain cells.
“No muffins?” I bemuse. “Coffee then? Can you speak, or have my abs struck you speechless?”
Once she realizes she hasn’t answered, she snaps out of her train of thought. “They didn’t put anything out for you? There was supposed to be something in your room. Bagels. Coffee. Fruit.”
She looks around, trying her hardest not to make eye contact with me in her search. It’s cute how she actively skips over the spot I’m standing in just to make sure her gaze doesn’t land on my exposed skin.
“My cock isn’t out, you know.”
She chokes on air as she flinches at the blunt statement. “That’s…good. You should probably keep that in your pants.”
I snort. “A lot of people would agree with you there,” I retort, walking over to the chair in the corner and sitting down to give her some breathing room. “Are you going to look at me?”
She doesn’t. “Areyougoing to put a shirt on?”
My lips stretch into a wide smile, and I slide a hand down the ripple of muscle covering my torso. “Do my abs offend you? I’ve been praised a time or two for them. Pretty sure they’ve won awards online. Once, a woman told me they were lickable.”
She’s still not looking.
Which only makes this more fun for me.
I study her for a microsecond. Her neck is slender and feminine. Soft. It would look good with my hand wrapped around it. “You’re quite the prude, aren’t you? Let me guess. You were raised in a covenant. I already told you that I don’t do—”
“I’m not a virgin,” she snaps defensively, finally meeting me with cold, offended eyes.
There she is. “My mistake.” I raise my hands in surrender with quirked lips. However, I have an odd sense that she’s lying. “They were doing test pictures when one of the puppies got a little too excited.”
Interest takes over the irritation on her face. “Excited as in…?”
I chuckle. “It peed on me.”
A surprised laugh bubbles out of her when I lift the white shirt I’d shown up in. It’s got a bright yellow pee trail across it. “Are they going to get you a new one?”
Is that look in her eye because she’s hoping theywillorwon’t? “If my manager gets his way, he’d have me get a few shots like this before anybody delivers me something new to wear. I’msure a shirtless man holding puppies would stop people from scrolling away from an article about what a do-gooder I am.”
Despite her best efforts, her eyes dip down to my chest, then further south. I flex, knowing damn well she likes what she sees. I may be cocky, but I’d like to think the hours I spend at the gym weekly earn me a right to be.
Winter rips her eyes away before walking to the opposite side of the room and putting as much distance between us as possible. “It would get attention,” she relents, nodding. “But I don’t think it would give the kind of vibes we’re going for. Unless you think more women thirsting after you is going to solve your problem.”
Is that jealousy I detect in her tone?
I rest my elbows on my bent knees and smirk at her. “Does the idea of womenthirstingafter me upset you, Winter?”
The sound of her name makes her top teeth dig into her bottom lip. “No,” she says with a bite to her tone that wasn’t there a moment ago. “But I’m not your wife. Maybe you should ask her.”
I swipe a hand over my mouth to hide my wavering smile. “Whatdidyou and my wife discuss on the way here? My nefarious ways? Is she writing a memoir titledMarried to a Professional Man Whore? Is she prepping for a60 Minutesinterview to go over every way I’ve wronged her?”
Her glare is comical, but she’s silent.
I hum. “You’re right. That book title makes me sound like an escort. I get my taste for free. Perhaps I should charge for my services. What is your advice on that?”
