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“I’ve always liked it. You’re bubbly and warm and just have this…thing to you that I wanna trap like lightning in a bottle.”
My bottom lip disappears behind my top teeth as I try not to outwardly swoon at the statement.
Fuck, I don’t even know what it means, but it sounds amazing.
Romantic.
Like a brand-new, exclusive chick flick starring Channing Tatum debuting on Hulu.
Ugh.
I honestly cannot remember the last time a guy said anything remotely amorous like that to me.
Daniel’s compliments during the duration of our relationship were always a lot lamer. “You’re kind” or “You’re smart” or “You’re great”, you know shit that basically sounded like a more polished version of that speech from The Help.
Smooth talking was never his strong suit.
Neither was dirty talking, which was such a fucking shame because I love it.
Perhaps an unhealthy amount, but that’s not really a “now” topic.
Not while waiting for a date and definitely not while listening to a sexy Irish accent with legs hit on me.
“However, you were a happily married woman, and I don’t invite myself into homes that didn’t open the door for me, so I settled for standing as close to lightning as I could every chance I was given.”
Wait, should I just ignore that middle section that has me very curious to focus on the fact he’s flirting, or can I ask about that first and then blush over his schoolboy crush on the older woman?
Which is all this obviously is.
“You honestly think it’s a coincidence I’m always the one serving you?”
He chose that phrasing on purpose.
I fucking know it.
And unfortunately for me my lady parts wanna feel it.
If he doesn’t hush up, I’m gonna have to order a glass of ice to nestle between my thighs to prevent giving myself third degree burns.
Tate lowers his frame a little closer cutting off my ability to breathe by both his heavenly cologne and proximity. “And do you honestly think I’d ever let another man take that pleasure from me?”
Okay, fourth degree burns.
The smirk that is rightfully earned briefly flashes itself once more prior to him straightening his posture. “You’re a brilliant woman, Harper. You know better.”
I don’t even know my own last name right now.
“So,” he smoothly segues, “who is the lucky person enjoying your company this evening?”
Uh…
Fuck.
Good goddamn question!
Michael?
Ralph?
