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“Yes. I’m so excited that we’re going to be showing some of the artwork in the gallery,” he adds. “And, I know a few guys who run a monthly games night. We started off playing vintage video games, but it’s morphed into all kinds of games now. Sometimes we do a poker night, other times it’s Monopoly or a party game, like Pictionary. But I feel like the guys would love something strategic, like this.”
“As soon as I have the preview copies manufactured, I’d love to give you one.”
“No way. I’ll be paying for this, thank you very much.” Dom grinned. “Top dollar. You can put my name on the preorder list.”
Rowan nudges me. “See, you don’t need to keep fussing with the rules and listening to assholes on the internet. The game is great as it is.”
I’m so full of warm-and-fuzzies, I’m worried my heart might explode. Glen and Dom thank me for the invite and I see them to the door, watching the way Dom slings his arm around Glen’s shoulders. They’re so affectionate and so comfortable together. I can’t remember the last time I had that in my life.
Have you ever had that in your life? Your dating history reads like a HowNotTo guide.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to give you a hard time for winning and being happy about it?” Rowan swaggers toward me. He looks so...touchable. Seeing him away from his sleek suits, with eyes still crinkled from laughter and hair delightfully out of place, is everything.
“You can try, but I had you fooled from the beginning. Victory was always going to be mine.” I’m standing by the open door, waiting to see if he’s going to follow his brother and Glen out. I hear their door close down the hallway, but Rowan is still here. “You were all too busy pointing fingers at each other.”
“Honestly, there’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she’s good at and exploits the hell out of it.” He sends me a smile that’s so hot I have to resist the urge to yank him closer and plant my mouth over his.
“Maybe you’re one of a kind, because the men I’ve dated were nothing like that.” Every single one of them turned out to be a disappointment. They wanted a strong woman no more than they wanted a needle stuck into their eyeball.
“You’ve been dating the wrong men.” He takes another step closer, his warm brown eyes like a summer breeze—delicious and welcome.
“No, I’ve been dating—I think that’s the problem. I’m focused on this, right now.” I gesture to the coffee table. “I don’t have time to contort myself into the perfect woman for some man who says he wants one thing and actually wants another.”
I’m not talking about Rowan, really. I’m talking about every single one of my exes who made me feel inferior for being myself. But I’mnotgoing to change. I love being competitive and if that means I’m going to stay single for a while, that’s fine by me.
“And what happens if you meet a guy who happens to think you’re perfect just the way you are?”
He’s close now. Close enough that I can smell the faded cologne on his skin, that my knee still burns from where we were touching earlier. Close enough that I can see the expanding of his pupils and the way his gaze lingers on my mouth. Close enough that I can reach out and make him mine.
“Don’t tempt me,” I say. “I’ve heard too many lies before.”
Need winds through me like a creeping vine, wrapping around my limbs and rooting me to the spot. It squeezes and tightens, churning me up inside. All I want right now is for him to bring his lips down to mine. To make me feel real and whole and wanted.
You shouldn’t want that. Not from him, not from anyone.
My dating disasters have taught me as much—I can’t rely on a man to make me feel good. I have to do that myself.
But Rowan is...well, he’s an anomaly.
“What if I want to tempt you?” His hand comes to my waist, lingering. His thumbs trace circles over me. It’s intimate. Familiar. “What if I’m so fucking tempted myself that I want to share that with you?”
It’s wrong. We’re working together. Ineedthe show to go well.
But...but...
I slide my hand up his chest, skating over the soft fabric of his hoodie to the broad expanse of his shoulder, along the sharp line of his jaw up to where his hair curves at his ears. It’s soft and I brush the ends of it with my fingertips.
“Live a little,” he whispers. “No promises. No consequences. No Post-its.”
“There arealwaysconsequences.” I swallow.
“We can’t break up if we’re not together,” he counters. “But I can’t get you out of my head. I can’t get that night out of my head.”
Sex. That’s what he’s offering. Nothing more, nothing less.
For a moment, I wonder if I should be insulted. But I want it, too. I want him.
This is how it starts. You feel attracted...then you get attached.
