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“How long have you got?” I arch a brow.
“Huh. That big a list of complaints, is it?”
“Don’t even get me started.” I groan. “She spent most of the night talking about how herdaddyowned the restaurant we went to as well as most of Beacon Hill. I couldn’t take the woman seriously after that. The only place a grown-ass woman should be calling out for Daddy is when she has her legs wrapped around my shoulders as I’m fucking her brains out.”
When Lottie’s cheeks turn a darker shade of red at my outburst, I realize I might have said too much.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that shit,” I mutter, wondering if I’ve crossed some imaginary line with her.
“Well, we did promise each other we would be brutally honest.” She nervously giggles.
“I can tone it down a notch if I’m making you uncomfortable, though,” I hear myself say.
The fuck?
Where did that touchy-feely shit come from?
That doesn’t sound like me.
But the way her shoulders instantly relax beside me tells me it was the right thing to say, so I don’t ruin it by being myself.
“That’s quite alright, Nate. It bodes well for us that you feel so at ease with me.”
I do feel at ease with her.
And I’m not sure why or even if that’s a good thing.
“But the reason I came here today was not to give you a hard time about Agnes but to apologize for your date with her. She shouldn’t have reached out to you to begin with. That’s not how we do things at Love Moore.”
Lottie then takes an iPad out of her bag and opens up my profile on the Love Moore internal website. She goes on a little rant about how I should follow the procedure next time and how it’s her role to pick out possible matches for me instead of me setting up dates on my own.
In all honesty, I tune out most of what she says, too distracted by the way her cupid bow lips form words. The first time we met, she had deep-red lipstick on, but today, her lips are colored a lighter shade of bubblegum pink, which leaves my mind to wonder if they taste as sweet as they look.
Stop looking at her lips, asshole, and pay attention.
But even when I put all my efforts into truly hearing what she’s so passionately trying to tell me, I can’t help but zone out, too enamored with that full lower lip of hers and how her tongue swipes over it every once in a while.
“What about her?” she asks, pointing to a redhead on the screen that looks goddamn vanilla in comparison to the woman at my side.
“Set it up,” I answer in a curt tone as I stand up from my seat, not even bothering to learn the woman’s name, much less ask for further information about her.
“Are you sure? Don’t you want me to tell you more about Alice?” she asks, brows furrowing.
Who the fuck is Alice?
Oh, right.
The redhead she’s pointing at on the screen.
“Nah, I trust you.”
And what astonishes me most is that I actually mean that shit.
And God help me, but when Lottie looks up at me as I tower over her, my mind wanders yet again, only this time to places it should damn stay clear away from.
I start imagining how easy it would be for me to grab her chin and crane her head further back just so I could lose myself in those grayish-blue eyes of hers. How, like this, her mouth looks even more delectable to me. And how her pink lipstick would look fucking incredible on the length of my cock.
Damn it all to hell.
