We spent hours yesterday laughing and whispering about his little crush.
He just needs a wingman, that’s all.
An encouraging nudge.
Shyness aside, it’s about time that boy got laid.
Okay, perhaps I’m a hypocrite.
Someone calls my name.
“Marco, quick question about the bar setup.”
“Give me five minutes,” I reply.
???
Vonnie's voice crackles through the earpiece.
Amos is about to arrive.
My attention narrows immediately.
And there he stands in the doorway.
Shirt sculpted to his body, chest revealed.
Tattoos on full display as he works the room.
So much for never letting myself crush on a man with ink.
Somehow he makes body art look personal, sensual.
Not intimidating.
Observing him now, I notice that he listens attentively whenever someone speaks.
He rests a hand on their shoulder as he thanks them.
Maybe when he’s not being such a tease, he has a kind soul?
Guests swirl around him, vying for his attention.
There are some big names in this room.
But his gaze lands on me. And stays there.
My stomach drops.
Just breathe.
What is it about this man that unravels me so easily?
Amos is a magnet for the popular crowd.
But he doesn’t seem fazed by it at all.
Wherever I stand, those intense dark eyes follow.
