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“Where’s Rudy?” I ask, the words out before I can stop myself. The guy’s nowhere to be found.
“Bathroom.”
“Is he your boyfriend? Husband? Are you two married?”
Her breath halts at my questions, the hesitation blending with the intoxicating scent of her, the heat from her skin turning my blood to fire, the impulse to kiss her unbearable.
“We — ” Her hand answers the question for me, a slim wedding ring right there. “We are.”
“How long?”
“Seven months.”
“Newlyweds.”
“Yes.” Her tone makes it clear she wishes that weren’t true.
Me, too, Princess. Me, too.
The raging arousal inside me suddenly has nowhere to go. I’m a moral guy. I don’t screw other men’s wives. So now I’m wildly attracted to this woman who makes me suddenly believe in love at first sight, and she’s married.
To Rudy, the Uberdick.
“Are you married?” she asks softly.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why no girlfriend. Or – uh – boyfriend?”
“I swing your way, Princess. No worries there.”
The blush that fills her face makes me think of how pink and swollen she’d be in bed.
“I wasn’t – that’s not what I — ”
I put my hand on top of hers, pretending to offer her the leash, but she picks up on what I’m doing, our skin turning to fire where we connect. “I feel it, too.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I don’t know what this is, Paigelynn, but I sure as hell feel it, too. I’m sorry about Rudy, though.”
“I’m married,” she says somberly.
“I don’t just mean that.”
“Then what?”
“You married the wrong guy.”
It’s easier to stand and break the spell, but even as I walk back, make space, cause a fracture, she lingers on my skin, in my blood, certainly making my cock stand. That was the most brutally honest conversation I’ve ever had with woman, and I feel like all my skin has been neatly cut off and hung in a closet to dry, waiting to be put back on later.
