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Fuck, I got it bad.
And I can’t because…well, she’s taken.
“I… um… met Lawrence,” I say, trying desperately not to think about how her body melts perfectly into mine.
“You did?” she asks, craning her head back, making me immediately regret opening my mouth.
I thought having Lottie’s head pressed up against my chest was bad, but having her lips just a few inches away from mine is way worse.
“Yeah.” I clear my parched throat.
Now I’m the one who could use a drink.
“He was okay. I might have a shot of staying on the team.”
“Oh, Nate!” She jumps into my arms, hugging me fiercely. “That’s wonderful.”
“Hmm. It is,” I whisper hoarsely, unable to think straight with the smell of her lotus blossom shampoo invading my senses.
When I start dancing again, my brain shuts down. Having Lottie pressed up against me like this is sweet torture. And before I can stop myself, my mouth runs away from me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She hums, letting me run my fingers through her hair.
“If you didn’t have a boyfriend and I wasn’t such a headcase, do you think… you could ever see yourself with a guy like me?”
She pulls a smidge back away from me again, her cheeks flushing crimson as she looks deep into my eyes.
“Why… why… would you ask me that?”
“Can you just answer the question, Lottie? Just this once?” I plead. Or maybe I’m begging. I can’t tell anymore.
“You’re talking like I usually evade your questions.”
“Aren’t you evading this one now?”
“Touché.” She smiles gingerly. “Fine. Let’s just say you do have your appeal.”
“Name ‘em.”
“You want me to name them?” She burst into a fit of giggles, but I don’t let them dismay me.
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Do you need another ego boost right now? Wasn’t that girl bidding to go out with you enough?” she retorts with a snarl.
Is she jealous?
“I don’t care about her. I just want to know what you think of me.”
Her nose does that thing it does when she’s focusing on something, her cute lips pursing while she thinks of what to say next.
“You can give me the bullet points,” I say when she takes too long to tell me what I yearn to hear.
“Fine. You’re awfully sweet, even if you don’t know it. You are kind and generous without needing recognition. You’re very protective of the people you care about, and loyal to a fault. You’re one of the most decent and honest men I know. You, Nathan Wilder, are the whole package, and don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
“You have to say that because you’re my matchmaker,” I mumble, thinking this is probably a scripted speech she uses on all her clients.
