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“Yes. A lovely, brilliant one. We’re off to grab a nightcap.”
Graham points to the door. “Why the hell are you talking to us, then? Get out of here.”
“Just letting you know I’m taking off.”
CJ shoos me with both hands. “And now you may go. Be on your way.”
“So much for manners,” I say.
CJ scoffs. “No need for niceties when there’s love in the air.”
“Love?” I voice the four-letter word like it tops the lot of them. Because it does, along with tuna and iron. If I never eat sushi or flatten my own shirt collar again, I’ll consider myself a lucky man. “No, none of that nonsense. Just a good time with a great woman. See you two later.”
The last time I felt the inklings of something more than like, I learned Olivia was only interested in a five-letter word. Money. Another reason why I have no patience for dating games.
When I leave The Library, I find Gigi outside leaning against the brick wall, holding her phone out in front of her, arm outstretched.
Is she taking a selfie?
Odd.
Despite the showy clothes, she doesn’t seem like an Instagrammer. A selfie seems against her code.
If pressed, I would have said selfies were beneath her.
But maybe I’m doing that thing again, that thing where I think better of people than they deserve. I’d hoped to leave that habit behind me in London.
Gigi turns her gaze to me, laughs, then rolls her eyes as she waggles the phone. “I was trying to make the font smaller. I have this friend who sends me drafts of her sexy short stories to read for feedback. But they’re in twenty-point font. I have to scroll every other sentence.”
“That’s quite a large font.”
She gives an approving nod. “Yes, it is. I’m generally good with…large things. But I like to tease Rosie about being a Gigantic Font Whore. She teases back, saying I’ll be grateful for anything gigantic in my life when I’m her age.” She adds in a confiding stage whisper, “Though at fifty I’m pretty sure she’s getting more action than all of my other friends put together. Her blog is scandalous.”
“Really? How so?” I ask, fascinated by this woman and her…zest.
“She writes all about her big city Sexcapades. In depth. No subject is taboo. I’ll shoot you a link and you can read for yourself.”
“Or maybe you could read me an excerpt or two? I’m guessing you’re great at reading aloud, what with your mastery of Z-words and all.” I lower my voice and set a hand on the small of her back. It’s the perfect fit. And even better? The way she shivers and shifts closer when I touch her.
Thank you again, kismet. There’s nothing hotter than a responsive woman, and Gigi is like a cat who arches into my touch, who savors and purrs for it.
Meow.
“All right. Here’s a snippet. ‘It was a hot sticky night in the city and all the zeks were out wielding their zaks, hoping to get off work early and get lucky,’” she whispers in a narrator voice.
I hum low in my throat. “Raunchy things, those zeks.”
“Very much so,” she says. “Into handcuffs and scarves too, I hear. When they don’t have a zak in hand.”
“Scarves you say…” I tap my temple, filing the breadcrumb she’s dropped. “Noted. Now I have a most important question,” I say as we walk to Camp Whiskey.
“I’m all ears.”
“These T-shirts.” I point to them, draped over her arm. “I feel it’s important we wear them out in public as soon as possible, so that everyone we meet can admire and envy our accomplishment. But I’m torn. If you were to put one on, it would ruin the stunning view I’ve been enjoying all night.”
She presses her hand to her chest, faux shocked. “Were you checking out my décolletage?”
“Guilty.”
She grins, a naughty glint in her eye as she rolls her index finger at my pecs. “Then you should definitely atone by taking off your fancy clothes and wearing a T-shirt instead.”
“What the woman wants…”
As we amble down the block, I go with it, shrugging out of my jacket. I hook it over my arm and begin to unbutton my shirt.
Her blue eyes go wide, traveling lasciviously down my chest as I loosen the buttons. I get to the last one and tug the shirt out of my trousers. Then I shed it too.
She blinks, drops her jaw, makes a show of lifting it again with two fingers under her chin. “Wow.”
I chuckle, pleased she likes the view, and hand her my jacket and shirt. When I’ve pulled on the T-shirt, I take back my clothes and then square my shoulders, preening for her benefit. “There you go, madam.”
She sighs. “No. See, now you’ve gone and ruined everything, West.”
“You prefer the dress shirt?”
“I prefer no shirt,” she says with an adorable pout.
