Page 32 of Wingmen

And then she went inside and left him standing there, realizing he’d forgotten to do the Puerto Rican accent.

Dustin

Fatima unlocked her car with the clicker, then turned around and leaned on it. She’d thrown the dupatta over her head when they came outside – because it was chilly, Dustin figured – and the hair curling out from under it looked soft and warm. Up close, Dustin could smell her perfume, and he became aware, as he folded his arms and put his shoulder on the car beside her, that he was drunk.

“Are you okay to drive?” he said, and then immediately remembered she was stone cold sober because she didn’t drink.

She pursed her lips, smiling, and watched him remember that, then said, “What about you?”

“I’ll call an Uber.”

“Mmm…”Her brow knit. “I don’t know if you’re gonna get one right now.”

He looked up the street. “Oh, really? I don’t usually have a problem when I come here.” He pulled out his phone. “Because of the time?”

“No, because it’s gonna be pretty hard for you to get an Uber when you’re already in my car going to my place.”

His eyebrows lifted, but his eyes stayed on the phone. He stood very still for a moment, then looked at her.

A smile crept into the space between them.

“That does sound like it would be difficult,” he said.

“It would defy all laws of space and time.”

He glanced at the phone, then the car. “I…listen, I’m not looking for anything long-term. Or…casual, even. Or…at all.”

She lifted one shoulder. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?”

She gently removed the phone from his hand, slid her arm around his waist, and tucked it into his back pocket. Dustin felt her hips meet his, and he gripped them and pulled her in. Shepressed him against the car as her mouth found his, soft and warm, with the sweetness of lime on her breath.

AndRodriguezcame into his head?

Dustin’s brows drew together as he kissed Fatima with his eyes closed. Something about her perfume? Did it remind him of Elliot’s cologne? Or was he just feeling guilty that the mentoring thing had gone completely out the window tonight. He’d barely seen Elliot all evening.

He pushed all that away and lifted his hands to Fatima’s face, smoothing her cheeks with his thumbs. She leaned in closer, pressing her hips into him until his cock began to press back, and he sighed as she pulled away. She hooked her fingers into his belt loops.

“How does it feel to be kissing above your paygrade?” he asked.

Her lips quirked. “Stubbly. How does it feel to be kissing below yours?”

“Honestly?” Dustin turned the edge of her scarf between two fingers. “It’s making my dick pretty hard.”

“Mm!” Her eyes sparked. “Then it sounds like we’d better get your dick in the car, before it winds up in an Uber or something.”

And she leaned in and put her lips to his cheek as she reached behind him to open the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Elliot

Marisol had him doing a shift-survival circuit at seven the next morning, which was exactly what he needed. Dead man burpees left zero space in your brain for thinking. By the time they wrapped, his chest was on fire, his hair was dripping, and he could barely walk.

He staggered to the bench to hydrate, and then to the locker room, where he stood under the shower with his head down and eyes closed.

He thought about Drew – her freckles and short hair, and her weird sense of humor. He thought about the way his skin lit up as her lips touched his cheek. How she’d sort of blindsided him, and he’d stood outside her apartment for so long last night that eventually the window opened above him and she called down, “Do you want me to send down a ladder?”