Page 39 of The Mr. Right Checklist

“Fuck it.” I sweep my arm around her and seal my mouth over hers the way I’ve wanted to all night. I tell myself to go slow, so I don’t overwhelm her, but she’s right there with me, greedily returning my efforts as I devour her. Her mouth feels impossibly familiar. I revel in the sweetness of it and in the feel of her hands on my chest as she goes up on her toes, seeking more. That’s it, sunshine. Take what you want. I push a hand into her hair, getting a whiff of strawberry as I tangle it around my fingers at the base of her skull. Angling her mouth beneath mine, I take the kiss deeper. She moans, and my body flames at the sound that has fueled my fantasies all week. I’ve never been so turned on by kissing before, and I can’t get enough of her. I grab her ass, holding her tight against me, knowing she’ll feel what she’s doing to me. Earning more sexy sounds, I tighten my hold on her hair, kissing her more possessively. She makes a sound between a whimper and a moan, and I reluctantly pull back. “Too hard?”

“No.” She tugs my mouth back to hers.

We feast like starving animals, groping and grinding like we may never get another chance. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this type of primal passion, I had wondered if it even existed inside me anymore. I want to take her inside, strip her down, and devour every inch of her. To give her what no man has been able to. To show her that fireworks can come without everlasting love. But that thought reminds me of the inescapable fact that she’s all about love, and I’m on the opposite end of that spectrum. She’s also tipsy, and both of those things give me pause. I respect her too much to do something she might regret, so I ease my efforts, kissing her softer, savoring every press of our lips, every sensual sound she makes. As I draw back, she says, “More.”

I’ll probably go straight to hell for it, but the plea reels me in for one last, sensual, lingering kiss. The thought of ending the kiss and walking away is agonizing, but I know I have to. I pull away slowly, brushing my lips over hers as I whisper, “I should go, sunshine.”

“Oh . . . You don’t want to come in?”

The disappointment—or hurt?—in her voice slays me. “I want to come in more than I’ve wanted anything in a very long time, but you’re tanked up on Lusty Lizards, and we’ve got a great friendship. I don’t want to screw that up by doing something you’ll regret when your head is clearer.”

She frowns and runs her hands over my chest. “Why do you have to be such a good guy?”

“Because if I let my G.I. Joe side come out and you wake up tomorrow wondering what the hell you did last night, you’ll probably scurry back to Georgia, and poor Arjun will never get his once-in-a-lifetime Parisian-themed proposal.”

She laughs. “I won’t regret it.”

“Let’s not test that theory. I’m a casual dater at best, and you’re a forever girl. For what it’s worth, you weren’t the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about that first kiss.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Now go inside and lock up so I know you’re safe, and drink some water before you go to bed. I’ll see you Saturday.”

Chapter Twelve

DESTINY

“You left me hanging last night. Why didn’t you text me back? I’m dying to know what happened at your business meeting,” Ruby asks too fast and too loud for my throbbing head, when she walks into the grooming room Friday morning, causing the adorable poodle I’m grooming to bark.

The sound echoes in my head. I groan and whisper, “Shh, Barley.”

“You look awful,” Ruby says. “Are you sick?”

“No. I drank two Lusty Lizards last night and woke up feeling like someone used my head as a punching bag.”

She laughs. “Congratulations.”

“For the hangover?”

“No, for getting the client!”

“Shh. How’d you know?”

She deadpans. “Whenever you go out celebrating, you somehow forget that you’re a lightweight and you end up looking like this the next morning. Remember the night you moved here?”

“Don’t remind me.” We celebrated by going out for Italian food and I had several glasses of sangria despite Ruby’s warnings about regretting it in the morning. Fletch’s similar warning comes back to me for the millionth time, bringing memories of the toe-curling kisses we shared and the embarrassing secrets I spewed.

“I think I need to give you a shock collar, or maybe you need a tattoo across your forehead that says CAN’T HANDLE MORE THAN ONE DRINK, so whoever you’re with can try to stop you.”

“A shock collar might work, but I think I need two. One for drinking, and one for kissing Fletch.” I groan and rest my forehead on the pooch’s furry back.

“You kissed him again?” she exclaims.

“Shh!”

She hurries over, talking just above a whisper. “Tell me everything.”

Slowly and quietly, I tell her everything, from the thoughtful gift and pep talk he gave me, to the way the conversation flowed easily between me, Fletch, and Arjun, and how Fletch had jumped in with input and opinions and compliments about me, to how much fun I had with him at the bar and how the night ended. “I can’t believe I basically told him I dream about him naked.”

“So what? Lusty Lizards give everyone loose lips.”

“Ugh.”