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Ford: God.
Eva: What?
Ford: I was full of shit when I said no rush. You need to get your ass down here. Now. Before I come up and get you. I wanna see that box.
Eva: Which one?
Ford: You know the one.
Oooof I don’t want to be smiling this much twelve seconds into this…not date thing I have with Ford.
But I’m smiling hard enough for it to hurt when I emerge from my apartment onto the sidewalk. An insulated grocery bag looped over one forearm and a beach bag dangling from the other.
Heat hits me from every angle, radiating up from the sidewalk and down from the sky. Late June in the south. Not for the faint of heart.
The knot holding my bikini top together underneath my t-shirt chafes the nape of my neck when I look up.
An enormous, brand new Range Rover idles at the curb. Black paint, black windows. Black wheels. It’s what Batman would drive if he were a bougie venture capitalist.
My heart skips a beat. Not because of the fancy-sexy-sinister SUV. But because of the guy sitting in the front seat. I can just make out his profile through the tinted window, thanks to the open sunroof. Light catches on the even angle of his nose, the square lines of his scruffy jaw. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing a pair of classic Wayfarer sunglasses. He’s got one hand on the wheel. He looks down at a phone he’s holding in the other.
I approach, flip flops clacking, and his head pops up. Through the window I see those full lips pull into a smile.
And then Ford is climbing out of the car, tall and broad and impossibly handsome in his t-shirt and board shorts. Tattoos on full display.
My heart seizes.
Oh God oh my God.
“Hey,” he says in that baritone voice of his. He reaches for my bags. From the corner of my eye, I notice the tailgate silently lifting. “Lemme help you with that. We’ve already discussed how it’s better to have extra hands where boxes are concerned.”
Hey. That’s it. That’s all it takes to make my nipples tingle and my resolve to keep things casual waver. I still don’t get how he got this damn handsome. This damn witty and kind and funny.
He presses a kiss to my cheek, taking the bags off my arms.
“He—hi,” I manage.
Lust. That’s all this is. That is all that I’m feeling.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
He puts my bags in the trunk and presses a button. The tailgate glides back into place, locking with a neat click.
He stands in front of me on the sidewalk, the sun glinting off the plastic frames of his sunglasses. Electricity pulses in the air between us.
My lips tingle at the memory of our kiss.
“You look gorgeous,” he says, and I imagine that behind his dark lenses his eyes are sweeping up and down my body.
“I’m in shorts and a t-shirt,” I reply lamely.
He grins, holding out his arms. “I like you dressed down, dressed up…Eva, you always look great to me.”
Can’t take it. I go up on my tip-toes to give him a hug, if only so I don’t melt into a puddle at his feet. His arms curl around my waist. He pulls me close, arms tightening around me in a deliciously familiar way. The kind of hug that’s closer and tighter and better than one shared by friends.
Screw the lunch I brought. Ford smells good enough to eat.
Heat hits me between my legs. It stays there, pulsing. See? Just lust.
“Thanks again for the invite,” I say. “Can’t wait to see this boat of yours.”
He lets me go and rounds the truck, opening the passenger side door for me. Like the gentleman—the heartbreaker—he is.
“C’mon, let’s get you out on the water. It’s too damn hot downtown.”
I feel like I’m inhabiting an alternate version of my life as I climb into Ford’s six-figure SUV, the door closing behind me. It smells like new car inside, cut with an undertone of—crackers, maybe? Goldfish?
My eyes catch on the car seat in the back as I buckle my seatbelt. On the bright orange crumbs that dot the dark carpet beneath it.
Yep, definitely Goldfish.
“Bryce is the messiest eater on the planet,” Ford explains as he guides us out into traffic. What is it that’s so freaking sexy about guys who drive with one hand? And why do I think it’s so cute when he talks about his daughter? “We’re working on her manners, but it’s been slow going. Good thing I didn’t buy a brand new car with a dark interior so you can see every damn crumb.”
I turn to see him grinning at me. This proud, happy grin that is making my heart skip again.
Being around this man is overwhelming.
“You really do love being a dad, don’t you?”
