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Mr. Random reached out and grabbed my arm, keeping me from sprawling on the ground and hurling my precious donut and coffee into the air.
Yep. His hand was hot. And strong. And...
A hand. It was just a hand. A boring, run of the mill, every-man kind of a hand. And it was still holding onto me.
“Um, thanks,” I said, finally freeing my heel.
“Don’t thank me.” He quirked a brow. “I’m on my way to a big interview. I can’t risk you flinging your coffee on me. We can’t have you spoiling my looks, now, can we?” He winked.
Like, actually winked at me. I don’t know what was more ridiculous, the idea that he thought anything could spoil his looks, or the fact that he had winked.
I thought winking was reserved for used car salesmen and creepy old men at the DMV. But I was obviously all kinds of wrong about the significance of shuttering a single eyelid. Because when this guy, whoever he was, did it, it made my knees wobble. Or were my wonky heels to blame for that?
Whatever the case, though I might have melted just a little bit on the inside, I bristled on the outside. There was no way I was going to let anybody get in my head today...
Not even Mr. Winky McDimpleton.
