Chapter Three
Could there be more choices?I held up another box of pregnancy tests, wondering how each of them could claim to be the best. There could only beonebest.
“You’re all liars.” I let out an exasperated huff.
Great. I wasn’t just talking to myself. I was arguing with a bunch of pregnancy tests. In the middle of the Target family planning aisle.
I just needed to pick one and get the hell out of there, preferably before anyone saw me. But when I went to put the tests back on the shelf, several boxes crashed to the ground. I crouched down to pick them up, annoyed that my turquoise linen shift had zero stretch when it came to bending. It looked great but wasn’t very practical.
“Let me help you,” said a man with a deep voice.
“Oh, that’s not…” I glanced up from his long fingers, up past the impeccably tailored designer button-down shirt, up to the most gorgeous pale blue eyes I’d ever seen. “…necessary.” I gulped.
He flashed me a brilliant smile before stacking the remaining few boxes back on the shelf. I studied him out of the corner of my eye, taking in the corded muscles of his forearms, the blond hair that was perfectly mussed in that sexy, just-fucked style. And when he smiled, I realized there was a dimple in his cheek. Dear god, this man was like kryptonite.
I stood, and he pushed off his thigh, standing to his full height. Even in my four-inch Louboutins, he towered over me. I blinked up at him, feeling a bit dazed.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, wondering what it was about this man that had me so off-kilter. This was the reaction men usually had to me, not vice versa. I mean, yes, I found them attractive. But I was never awed or intimidated or even rendered speechless like this.
Dumb struck.
Yes, dumb struck was a fitting term.
And I didn’t like it.
“Thank you,” I said, finally finding my voice.
“You’re welcome. And, well, good luck.” He grinned, though it was more of a grimace.
I followed his gaze to the pregnancy test still clutched in my hand, only then remembering why I was here.Shit.
Were I not on a mission. Were I not standing in the middle of the Target aisle, pregnancy tests pressed to my breast, maybe I’d ask him to go for drinks. Or maybe I’d drop the pretense and just ask him to fuck. I shook my head to clear it.
“Oh, this.” I held up the box of tests, wishing I could chuck it as far away from me as possible. The mere suggestion of pregnancy was enough to have me breaking out in hives. “This isn’t for me.” I laughed, but it sounded nervous even to my ears.
“Um. Okay.” I got the impression he didn’t believe me.
“No, really,” I insisted. “It’s for a friend.”
I hung my head.For a friend?God, that was the oldest, lamest excuse in the book.
I glanced at his basket, spying some snacks, chocolate, tampons, and—I leaned to the side to get a better view—condoms. And not just any condoms—magnums.Holy shit.I’d been with one guy who’d used magnums.One.And I’d been with a lot of men.
My eyes darted to the bulge in his tailored trousers, and I wondered just how large his cock was.
“See something that interests you?” He waggled his eyebrows, busting me for blatantly checking out his package—both the one in his basket and the one in his pants.
He wasn’t wearing a ring, but that didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t the chocolate or even the condoms that made me think he was in a relationship. It was the tampons. Men didn’t buy tampons for a woman unless they really cared about her.
“I’m not interested in men who are in a relationship.”Or looking for one.
“Then it’s a good thing I don’t do relationships.” He arched an eyebrow as if in challenge, that one brow quirking perfectly over his pale blue eye. “I would ask if you want to join me, but…” He glared at my pregnancy test as if the idea of it was repugnant to him. “It looks like you have other plans.”
“I told you,” I huffed. “It’s for a friend. Besides, it appearsyoualready have plans,” I said, referring to his condoms. “And unless your partner for the evening is a man, I don’t do threesomes.”
His eyes widened for a moment before his lips spread into a smile. I got the feeling my answer surprised him, and I delighted in the fact that I’d thrown him off his game—at least momentarily. He looked young, younger than me. Just how old was he?
