Ladies Man (Manwhore #4)(57)

I look away, out at the street, in a desperate attempt to resist his captivating grin.

As he walks me back home, I’m still carrying a month’s supply of chocolate treats and already feeling remorse about having devoured all that chocolate.

Things feel easy again, almost as easy as before. If only my body weren’t so hyperaware of his proximity.

I’m thinking about it, about him having my picture, pecking me on the lips, when his gentle nudge brings me back from my daydreams.

“Still with me?” He quirks a brow, puzzled as he looks down at me.

I nod quickly. “I was thinking that only a best guy friend would give a girl this much chocolate. Otherwise he’d have to sleep with the chocolate padding her curves.”

“You’re kidding.” He stops walking and incredulously narrows his eyes, which gleam incredibly blue. His eyes leave mine in frustration then they come back, more piercing than ever. “Your curves are succulent. A guy could play with those for hours.”

A sky full of butterflies bursts inside my stomach, and I feel myself heat up.

“Shut up,” I whisper, nudging him with a scowl, unable to look into his eyes. “Everyone and everything is succulent for a T-Rex.”

His eyes become hooded. “Not this one,” he says.

And it’s the way he says it that keeps making these butterflies flap wildly inside me.

I look at him, see the heat in his eyes, and I am so scared to get hurt again.

To get hurt a thousand times more than I ever have.

And I think that he knows it too. There’s never been a guy in my life more protective of me than he is—to the point of protecting me from himself.

But that only makes me feel even more warmly toward him.

He follows me into my brand-new apartment. He sets my chocolate Versailles on my coffee table, and spots my MAC makeup box on the couch. I seemed to have left it there the night before.

“Trent gave me a makeup kit for my birthday,” I explain.

One second he’s smiling and the next he’s raising his fine arched eyebrows. His eyes shutter, but then he grins briefly, with no trace of his former frustration, and he chucks my chin. “Looks like we need another evening at the Pier to color some little fishes.”

What is it about this guy wanting me without makeup?

He walks toward the door.

“Now that would be a travesty,” I say with a shame-on-you voice. “Almost as much of a travesty as eating my Versailles.” Though I admit, signaling to it, “I might eat the little bushes.”

“Eat the bushes? Alright.” He laughs mischievously.

The butterflies catch fire.

I groan and shove him back toward the door.

As I do, he steals one of my many bags of chocolates. “Hey!” I call, as he starts for the door. “You’re stealing my chocolates.”

He turns around and starts backing away slowly, facing me. “Come get them then.”

He raises the bag in the air a little bit and dangles it temptingly.

I rush at him and leap in the air, trying to grab the bag, but he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me close—fairly crushes me to his chest—and pecks my lips again.

I start, jerking back from the shock of the touch of his lips, the renewed burst of butterflies in my stomach, which seemed to flutter up to my head.

He waits, watching me, his arm still around me.

His eyes are leveled on mine. His nose is nearly touching mine. We’re breathing hard. He’s not smiling; his eyes are very dark and serious. Watching me with caution and intense interest, he tilts his head, eyeing my mouth from another angle. “Is your boyfriend taking you out tonight?” he drawls out.

He waits there, as if preparing—debating, thinking—to kiss me for real. “Trent and I had dinner last night,” I say breathlessly, nervously pushing at his chest. “And I…have work early tomorrow. You really need to stop doing that, Tahoe.” I turn around and wipe the back of my hand over my lips shyly.

He notices, and to taunt me, he licks his lips with his tongue, his eyes shimmering in challenge.

“We’ll see,” he says mischievously as he walks away with the bag of chocolates, waving a peace sign.

He smirks adorably from the door, and I shoot him a dark glare, wondering if the chocolate is really what he’s stealing from me.





LITTLE MAN





Early August, it’s official. Rachel and Saint are having a baby boy. She’s nearing her thirty-fifth week of pregnancy, and although they’ve wanted to know the sex for a while, the baby’s position made it hard for the doctors to tell for sure. Well. The baby cannot hide his jewels any longer.

On my way to the Saints’ place, all I can think about is whether or not I’ll tell Rachel how confused I am about Tahoe and me. I want to tell her, but the urge to push him to the back of my mind—survival mode—is acute.