Page 42 of Body Check

“Eh. I need someone who won’t look down on me for my career, while also not being emasculated by the fact I spend my day surrounded by and touching half-dressed men.”

“Good luck with that,” he mutters.

“You’re telling me.”

“How do you feel about body hair?”

“Not opposed.” I think of the way McKittrick’s leg hair felt under my hand. I haven’t seen him up close with his shirt off, only from a distance. But what I’ve seen… I definitely like.

“Build?”

“I like athletic, but I’m not opposed to someone who works a day job.”

I care more about what’s inside than outside.

Robby nods at a man in a well-fitting suit. He’s a few inches short of six feet, but the confidence radiating from him makes me take a second glance. His full head of hair is chestnut brown and cut in a fashionable style. A light layer of scruff covers an impressive jawline.

“What do you think?” my friend mutters.

“He’s hot,” I admit, sipping my drink as I shamelessly check the guy out.

The man in question looks up, interest in his eyes.

… and then his gaze slips from me to Robby, his brows furrowing.

“Go for it, babe.”

“I think he’s more interested in you,” I point out.

“Nah. He’s just making sure I’m not competition.” Robby gives me a light shove. “Go get ‘im.”

Shaking my head to hide a smile, I slip off the barstool and weave my way through the bar tables, like a woman on a mission. As I approach, the man turns to face me directly.

Fuck. He’s even hotter up close.

“Hey.” When my voice doesn’t shake, I smile. “I’m Amelia.”

“Sam,” he says, in a clear, rich voice. “Your friend put you up to this?”

Laughing, I admit, “Something like that. Do you want to buy me a drink?”

His eyes drift over me, taking his time perusing me like a horse at auction, and I’m not certain how I feel about being considered merchandise.

“Sure,” he says, turning back to the bar and flagging down the bartender. “What are you drinking?”

“Vodka and lemonade.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“Someone talked about it on a recipe blog once, and it sounded good. It’s my go-to drink now.”

When the bartender approaches, he orders, “A vodka and lemonade, please. And another gin and tonic for me.” He hands over his card and the bartender scurries off to make the drinks.

An awkward silence falls between us.

“So, what do you do?” he asks.

“I’m a physical therapist.”