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He is an absolutely fuckable work of art.
All sexually responsive parts of my body agree wholeheartedly with this assessment.
His vivid, bright blue eyes meet mine and instantly I’m transported to a lush tropical landscape. I can almost feel the grit of sand between my toes and warm lapping of ocean water as the tide rushes in to cover my ankles.
Oh no, wait, that’s just someone’s escaped teacup poodle using my leg as fire hydrant.
“What the—Hey, I’m not a tree!” I give the little dog a nudge with my toe, setting him off balance. He wobbles and falls on his side like a drunken sailor, licks himself (also like a drunken sailor), then jumps to his feet and yips at me.
A lady rushes over, shoots a hateful glare my way, as if I’m somehow in the wrong for getting peed on, scoops up her rat-sized dog, and brings him right to her face. Cooing dramatically, she allows him to lick her, more specifically her lips.
“He was just licking his own penis,” I point out.
And what an inappropriate observation to make out loud, Reggie.
Sculpture-Come-to-Life Man cough-choke-laughs.
Thankfully, the woman doesn’t seem to understand me, so my mortification can begin and end with the man currently snickering at the table in front of me. The woman struts back to her table, tucking the tiny dog back into her purse and shoving it under the table. People are forever smuggling their purse-dogs in here. While I’m certainly not opposed to pet-friendly environments, I could do without being used as a bathroom stop.
I turn back to the most gorgeous man in the entire universe and am incredibly surprised when actual words come out of my mouth and not just a litany of garbled, nonsensical sounds. “I’m so sorry about that.” I give my head a shake. “Je suis tres—”
He raises a hand to stop me. “English is fine.”
Oh my God. His voice is rich like a chocolate croissant and deep like the Grand Canyon. But the best part? He’s British. He could literally whisper car insurance quotes in my ear all day and I would be in heaven.
I realize he’s still speaking, and all I’m absorbing is the cadence of his voice, not his actual words.
“I’m sorry, pardon? I didn’t catch that.”
Don’t fidget, Reggie. Keep it together. Also, don’t offer yourself up as an appetizer.
“If you’d like to clean up before you take my order, that would be quite reasonable.”
“Oh! Right! Of course.” I crouch down and pull the cloth from my apron, with the intention of mopping up the area where the tiny dog piddled. It’s already mostly absorbed into the concrete, and also my sock and shoe.
“I meant you, not the ground.” British Sculpture Man’s fingertips skim the back of my hand in the gentlest of caresses, making my heart somersault and dive straight to my groin. “If you’d like a minute, I can wait.”
My nipples stand at attention and I inadvertently Kegel from the contact. I’m basically squatting beside him. I could disappear under the table and no one would be the wiser.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I croak and push to a stand. “Totally fine.”
“You are?” he replies skeptically. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I acknowledge that he might not want to be served by a person who is reeking of pee, but I’m already here, so I might as well take his order.
“Never been more positively certain in my bloody life,” I accidentally fall into a fake British accent.
He tips his head fractionally, eyes crinkling at the corners while his mouth quirks up. God help me, even his WTF look is delicious.
“I’m not making fun of your accent. I think it’s gorgeous. Your accent, I mean. You also.” I motion to him with frantic hand gestures. “Are gorgeous, much like your voice. I just . . . whenever I hear a British accent, I immediately become British in my head and then it comes out of my mouth. I’m so sorry. Are you expecting someone else, or will you be dining alone today?”
I’m one thousand percent sure my face is the color of a stop sign.
I sincerely hope that most of the people here can’t understand my rapid-fire word vomit.
“I’m expecting someone shortly.” He leans back in his chair, his amusement glittering in his aqua eyes.
I’m sure women must be tongue-tied on a regular basis around him. It should honestly be illegal to be this attractive. How does anyone function around him?
“Right, of course, you are. Can I get you something to drink while you’re waiting for your guest to arrive?”
