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“And obscenely rich,” she adds.
“And?” I think I know where this is going.
“How come you’re single?” she demands, confirming my suspicion. “When I think ‘billionaire,’ I think ‘arm candy.’”
I grin. “Like you.”
“I’m serious,” she says, but she doesn’t look very serious.
“My being rich isn’t really a variable when it comes to my dating life,” I say. “I don’t share that fact with a lot of people in general, but especially not with women.”
Except this one.
Once again, she looks at me like I’ve grown a dick outside of the usual location. “Why not?”
“I’m not interested in women who’d want a man for his money,” I say.
“Oh.” She scratches her head. “I guess that makes sense.”
Should I tell her about my inability to give someone a child? I doubt a better chance will present itself. “Why are you single?” I ask instead. “You’re smart, funny, attractive, and?—”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she says.
“Right back at you.”
“Forget it. I’ve just figured out why you’re single. You’re an ass.”
“Huh. I think it’s the opposite for you.”
Her eyebrow asks the obvious question.
“Your nice ass is why I can’t believe you’re single.”
She chuckles but steers the conversation away, which is just fine with me. Instead, by the time we reach my community, I’ve learned that she describes people in terms of dog breeds they resemble, and I’ve told her how easily I can get hangry—case in point, our initial meeting.
“Yeah, I get like that when I have my period,” she blurts as we pull up to my driveway. “Which was the case that day.”
Oh. “That explains things.”
Her eyes go squinty. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I put the car in park, jump out, and open the door for her. “I’m just kidding.”
She takes my proffered hand. “I am too.”
As we touch, a montage of the events from last night plays in front of my eyes (or is it my dick?), and I’m instantly hard.
“So.” Brooklyn glances at the rental and then at my place. “What happens after a date without labels?”
“This.” I claim her lips with a kiss.
Chapter Nineteen
Brooklyn
Oh, my. I thought the vodka was why kissing Evan last night felt out of this world. How else could it have been so good? But today, I’m stone-cold sober, and this is still the best kiss of my life. A ruining kiss too, which sucks because labels or not, whatever this is we’re not labeling is going to be short.
After what feels like an hour of bliss, I pull away and look up at Evan expectantly. On the one hand, I want to be invited in, but on the other, I?—
