“Margot, let’s get one thing straight. I like older women…and yes, I’m flirting with you.”
He’s flirting with me?No way.I was in middle school with braces playing the saxophone when he was born.Bitch, that doesn’t matter. He likes older women.
Holy shit.
Brody steps back, giving me space to try and collect myself before he grips the side of his tatted neck.
“You can breathe now.”
Nothing but a whoosh of air comes out of my mouth. Because my lungs have emptied out of pure shock. But I’m nodding as I blink a bit quicker. Heat spreads over my cheeks, and I bite my lip.
This is unexpected. What do I say? There’s no playbook for this. I’m out of my depth. Unprepared.
I’ll need three to five business days to process and plan.
I clear my throat. “Um… Thank you for that information shared within this kitchen—”
Oh my god, I’m saying words, but I’m not sure what they mean or if I’m even saying them correctly.
I sound like Kristen Wiig inBridesmaidswhen she was trying to speak Spanish, saying“Gracias, para vivar en la casa.”
“—I am going to think about that with my brain…as I go…”
Granted, it’s not the coolest thing to say, but a twenty-eight-year-old man just told me he’s into me after rubbing fresh aloe on my ass. This is all I got.
“See ya later, Margot.”
I know my feet are moving backward because I’m staring at his grin as he watches me walk away, but I don’t feel like I’m present in my body.
“Yep,” I answer immediately, adding, “See me later.”
Wait, did I just invite him up for tonight? Was that a booty call? I don’t know what the kids do.
“I mean around,” I toss out, trying to casually fix my blunder. “See me around. Or not. Whatever you’re comfortable with…”
He’s still grinning as he crosses his arms, watching me flounder. So I give him a little salute before I spin around to power walk away. But before I make it out of the room, Brody’s voice hits me in all the right places.
“And burn the suit.”
My face whips over my shoulder to see him staring at my ass, that damn jaw working overtime again, before he adds, “I don’t give a fuck if Wells likes it. That ass stays out of sight.”
I come on the spot. No, I don’t.
But the sensation that takes over makes me understand why the ladies I used to lunch with were obsessed with sentient-object romance novels. Because as I pass my sister, who definitely saw and heard everything, all I can think is that if I could dry hump a newel post, I would.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I rush out, almost taking two steps at a time before she realizes what I said.
“It’s 11:00 a.m.,” she yells up at my back.
But there’s no way I’m showing my face again until I can guarantee it won’t be beet red.
chapter six
. . .
What is a chaturanga?
This is ridiculous.
