I feel like I’m always rolling my eyes at this guy. But now I’m smiling when I do it because he’s so freaking ridiculous sometimes. “Let me guess what sort of bonus you're offering…” I angle a brow, tapping a finger against my chin as he comes to a stop right in front of me. “It’s sex, isn’t it?”
I know Tucker doesn’t genuinely want to have sex with me. I think it’s just his personality to flirt with every woman who finds herself caught in his orbit. Some people crack jokes. Some people tell stories. Tucker Bradshaw flirts.
And he’s very good at it. I can absolutely see why so many women found their way into his bed. The man certainly talks a good game.
But lots of men do. And in my experience, none of them live up to the hype. I can’t imagine this one is any different.
“It’s whatever you want it to be, Ruthless.” Tucker moves closer, something we’ve both tried to do more regularly since we have to look comfortable touching. “I am but your humble servant.”
I snort, laughing a little. “Right. Because menloveto service women while getting nothing in return.”
Tucker suddenly seems unusually serious. “Real men do.”
Right. Sure. “I must not know any real men then.”
Men have done nothing but disappoint me. Going all the way back to the one who walked away from my mother when she told him she was pregnant.
Growing up, I thought that was the worst thing someone could do under those circumstances. I was very wrong.
So very, very wrong.
Tucker’s eyes move over my face, studying me long enough I start to feel a little exposed. Like maybe he can see the shameful parts of my past. And will judge me accordingly.
But Tucker’s voice is soft, not even the slightest hint of judgment in it when he says, “That’s unfortunate.”
Is it though? “Not really.” I shrug, a little surprised to hear myself explaining more of my history than I ever intended to give him. “I’m better off on my own. No offense, but I’ve never found having a man around to be particularly useful.”
My mother tried to date a handful of times as I was growing up, and each one of them resulted in heartache. You’d think I’d have learned not to even try dipping my toe in the water. Apparently not.
And I almost drowned.
“Sounds like I need to work a little harder to prove my worth then.” Tucker brings one hand to rest against my hip, the heat of his palm sinking through the fabric of my fanciest leggings and the somewhat professional loose shirt I’m wearing over them. “All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll be more than happy to show you how useful I can be.”
His flirting might be all for the show, but it almost seems like he’s genuinely offering me sexual favors.
I think? Possibly?
Actually, I’m not really sure what’s happening right now.
“You mean like opening jars and reaching things on the highest shelves?” Because maybe I could actually admit it would be helpful to have a man around for a few very specific tasks.
Tucker’s lips lift on one side. “That’s the best you can come up with?” He shakes his head. “I expected you to be more creative than that.”
I’m not ever going to be a great flirt, but I probably need to try. At least a little. I can’t just keep rolling my eyes at him. “You’d be shocked how creative I can be.”
Tucker’s brows lift. “Yeah?”
I nod, worried over the way my mind is losing the plot. Because instead of coming up with something hilarious and off-the-wall for him to do, all my brain is thinking about is the way he seems to have moved even closer. Close enough the front of his body is now nearly pressed against mine.
Tucker leans down, bringing his lips close enough to my ear I can feel the warmth of his breath as he asks, “If you could ask me to do whatever you wanted, what would it be?”
Why in the hell did that question make my nipples tight?
Worse, why am I now thinking about all the things I could ask Tucker to do if we weren’t in the situation we’re in?
What would’ve happened if I’d met him before Birdie? Before William? If we’d found ourselves in the same bar on the same night. I wonder how different my life would be if it’d been Tucker I used to distract myself from the nagging ache I struggled to navigate after my mother died.
I would have one fewer man terrorizing me, which would be great. But I wouldn’t have Birdie. And there’s no amount of easier days that would make me willing to give her up. No amount of sexy, smooth talking Bradshaw brother that would make me second guess any decision that brought her here.
