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He loaded the Keurig with a pod and hit the button before facing me, and when his eyes met mine, he swiped a hand through his dark hair. He’d let it grow out a bit, causing the top and sides to have a more tousled look. An even sexier look, and wow, I needed to shelve that thought pronto.
“I have a hard time believing you can’t find your own dates,” I admitted.
“Is that your way of calling me handsome?” That broody look of his nearly penetrated my soul as he studied me. “Or is that not a word you’d use to describe me?”
I remembered our talk by the Jeep last night about a “killer” saving me. No, definitely not a killer. But handsome barely scratched the surface when it came to this man. I’d never surrender that thought to him, though.
Before I could work out an appropriate response, he pointed to my chest.
I looked down to see one of my overall straps undone and dangling. I had on a white top but once again no bra. I’d been home alone and not expecting anyone to join me outside, and the jean fabric had covered the tee, so no big deal. Well, until now.
“Sorry.” I rolled my eyes. “I remember how you feel about a white tee and no bra.” I fixed the strap, and when I carried my focus back to him, discovered his jaw strained beneath the stubble. Interesting. “So, tell me, why am I playing matchmaker for you?” I asked again, hoping to dodge the handsome question.
Ryan squeezed the nape of his neck, eyes still drilling holes through me.
“Nipples,” I said with a frustrated sigh, waving a hand between us. Why was he still staring at me like he was Superman and could melt steel with his eyes? “So what,” I went on, probably making things worse. But he drove me nuts, so my mouth ran away when we were together. “So you saw my nipple poke through some fabric just now. Not a big deal. You’re thirty-nine. Surely, you’ve seen plenty at this point.”
He turned at my words and retrieved his coffee. Armed with java now, Ryan took his time facing me.
The man before me had somehow morphed with that turn. He was calm. Steady. Unreadable. It was as if he’d flipped some special switch and . . .
Right. He was an operator. He needed to know how to button up his emotions for the sake of a mission. Great skill to have as a SEAL, and one I was sorely lacking. Because I wore my emotions on my sleeves. All over my face. Basically, on every inch of my body.
Ryan opened his mouth, about to say something that’d most likely annoy me, but my phone buzzed on the counter next to him, and he redirected his focus to it.
Maria had brought my phone home last night and, thankfully, she hadn’t mentioned anything about the pile of bills it’d been buried under in my desk drawer.
I opened my palm in silent request for him to hand it to me.
“A text from your mom. Looks like she’s had a busy morning. Rescheduled a date for you.” I discarded my coffee mug and accepted the phone, ignoring his cocky smile. “You know, I could give you a ride.”
Let Ryan chauffeur me around? I wasn’t that desperate.
I ignored him and checked the message.
Mom: I rescheduled your date. Coffee with the doctor today at 11 a.m. The Starbucks closest to our house. He’ll be waiting outside in a black dress shirt. You won’t be able to miss him. *winking emoji*
Me: I have to work later. Cancel, please.
Mom didn’t even hesitate.
Mom: You don’t open until 5. And I misplaced his mother’s number right after I rescheduled, so I can’t cancel for you. You’ll have to show up. Also, I'm about to lose service, so you probably won’t be able to reach me. Ciao, ciao. xx
Lies, Mom. All lies. I dropped my phone on the counter, knowing texting her again was a waste of time.
Ryan stared at me, back to the counter with one ankle over the other, casually sipping his coffee.
“Looks like you have a date, and I need one.” One more sip of his coffee before he added, “Like I said, I’ll take you on your date. Bring you to work, too, if you need a ride.”
“Fix my Jeep? Drive me around? What else will you do for me if I help you find a woman?” I was kidding, but he set down his coffee and erased the distance between us.
His palm landed on the counter at my side, and he drew my chin up with his free hand to peer into his eyes. “I’ll do whatever you want.” His husky voice coupled with that dark look, had me shivering.
Had me wanting . . . things. Things? Who was I kidding? Swap “things” for “sex.” That was what I wanted. Needed.
Two and a half years without sex at my age had me worried it wouldn’t be like riding a bike. What if I couldn’t get back on? Or get off, I should say.
In my defense, running the restaurant left little to no time for sex, let alone dating.
