"I have a lip gloss situation." I'd chewed off any I'd applied on the plane. "And a shoe situation." I did. I'd worn my ratty travel sneakers and my comfiest jeans with no less than two rips on the knees. "And a clothing situation."
There was no way a girl wore her ratties when meeting the men of the Denver Stallions football team. Honestly, I’d figured if I dressed down, then maybe it might tamp down some of the sexual energy rolling off of Sloan, colliding with mine, and creating a bomb of sexual tension.
Of note, the clothing choice hadn't achieved this. But it was worth the shot.
He looked down at my body, swallowed hard, and must've realized I was truly underdressed because he looked to the left and wouldn't meet my gaze. This would be the worst impression in the history of accidental brides.
"Your lips look great and what you're wearing is perfect," he said.
I didn't believe him one bit. Was the thin mountain air wrecking his ability to think clearly?
"Can you sneak me in the side door or something?" I didn't mean to hiss the words. "Or I can change in the car?"
That was a worst-case scenario. Ideally, I could grab my suitcase and sneak into a closet, get changed, and then I could meet everyone.
"Sloan Matthew Stevens," a gigantic mountain of a dude said from the top of the stairs. "What did you bring us home from Vegas?" He put his hand over his eyes like a visor for the sun. "Holy shit. She's real. Guys, she's real!"
"I'd like to apologize now for whatever my teammates say, do, or think in your direction." Sloan's gaze collided with mine.
That bomb I'd been hoping to diffuse with not-cute clothes threatened to detonate.
"Maya, you look great," he assured.
I made a sound like a combination ofnuh-uhandeep.
He was a sweet liar.
But still a liar.
I stepped toward him and dropped my forehead to his chest. Then I lifted my head so I could repeat the motion.
Sloan didn't move out of the way or move me out of the way.
He let my head rest against his chest and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck. "One reason I love the mountains is there isn't a dress code. Wear what you like. Don't think too hard about it. Just be comfortable."
Gah, this was nice.
I leaned further into Sloan's space. Up, up, up on my toes. I didn't stop to process the way his beard scratched lightly against my cheek, only that he smelled like a wilderness retreat I'd actually enjoy.
"Did you just sniff me?" I asked against his earlobe, still close.
"Yes," he replied.
My insides got all kinds of tingly at that.
"You sniffed me first." This time, he practically nuzzled the air over my neck as he inhaled.
I was a totally melted puddle of mush.
We headed inside, and Sloan paused at the doorway to the massive living area. The walls were lighter wood than the floor, and he had a nice rug in the center of the room.
Honestly, he needed a decent amount of help with the furniture placement, but I wasn't too concerned about the furniture right then because there was a whole panel of south-facing windows that stretched from the ceiling to the floor and overlooked a totally gorgeous forest.
"Your view looks like one of the TV scenes they put on the ceiling at my dentist's office while I'm getting a cleaning," I said.
"Fuck a Ferrari. The guys worked quickly," Sloan said. "I've only been gone two days, and there's a damn balloon arch."
There was. A giant balloon arch over the door to the backyard with a sign that read:New Husband Huddle This Way.
