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I chuckle in relief and laugh when he adds, Two must be the sexiest female number name.
My cheeks are beginning to hurt from the huge grin covering my face. Apparently, he’s playful too. We’re going to get along just fine.
For ninety-seven percent of the time.
A reference to our compatibility number. What happens in the other three percent?
We fight. Which gives us a good reason to make up. Would it be too forward to say I like make-up sex?
I snort at his boldness, which makes blood rush to my cheeks again. I tap out my reply and hit Send quickly before I can think about the implications. Me too.
Then you’re perfect.
I’m sure my grin turns stupid when I text him, I look forward to meeting you soon.
Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sweet dreams.
Tomorrow? What if I have plans?
Cancel them.
Suddenly our banter has lost its fun. The man wants me to drop everything for him? Oh boy. My blood simmers as I stare at the screen trying to determine how I’m going to set his misogynistic brain straight.
Before I can reply, though, he sends another text. I don’t want to wait any longer to meet my mate. I trust you feel the same way.
“Nice recovery,” I say to myself, but something seems off. Reading back over our texts, the word “mate” stands out. It’s an odd choice of words, but then so is finding a husband based on a dating profile I wrote for the guy.
Then I gasp, panic rushing through my veins for a totally different reason. I have so much to do to prepare for the strange man about to come into my life! Like shaving my legs, for one.
As the list of tasks I need to complete races through my head, my insides quiver. Strange texts or not, I think I want Boyfriend Twenty-One to stick around.
Chapter Three
Beads of sweat dampen my hand as I wipe them from my brow and gaze at my apartment. Twenty-One said he would meet me here. The scent of lemon cleaner hangs in the air, and surfaces that haven’t been visible since the first week I moved in shimmer in the sunlight like the hope in my heart.
It’s a nice feeling, one I don’t usually get with men. My father left before I was old enough to remember him, and I figure that’s the reason I struggle to trust any male in my life. As cliché as it sounds, I have daddy issues, so to protect my heart, I only get involved with men for physical pleasure, keeping love off the table.
But now I’ve been handed a guy who is obligated to marry me. Maybe I’m excited to meet him because it might force me to give love a chance.
I wonder, though, if this is going to be one of those careful-what-you-wish-for scenarios I will end up regretting. Because while he can’t easily leave me, Twenty-One could be the kind of man who makes me wish he would. As I consider this, I pull my hand back from my mouth and glance down at my rough fingernails then head to the bathroom for a nail file.
Abby told me a chaperone would accompany Twenty-One to my apartment, so when I hear a knock at my door, I take a deep breath and make my way over to meet my future husband. The moment I open the door, the physical presence of Twenty-One makes me gasp softly. He is much bigger than I anticipated, his size magnified in comparison to the small, older lady accompanying him.
“Miss Sawyer?” the woman asks.
“Yes, that’s me.” My gaze doesn’t stray from the attractive man standing before me. I want to take in every impressive detail. His button-up shirt is taut across his chest and arms but loose around his stomach, which I bet is just as solid as the rest of him. His jeans hug muscular thighs, and I have to hold back the urge to sigh with pleasure.
“Charlie, this is your match. Meet Ryan.” The woman gestures to Twenty-One. “His things will be delivered later today.”
As I raise my gaze up to his eyes, his lips turn up to reveal a dimple in his left cheek that nearly makes my knees buckle. Ryan steps forward, and he doesn’t look at the older woman when he says, “You can go, Mrs. Chadwick.”
Ryan takes me by the arms, his grip firm, and Mrs. Chadwick says, “But I need to go over—” He kicks the door shut with a backward movement of his foot just as she finishes. “The rules!”
Ryan’s touch sears my skin in a pleasurable way, and I place my hand on his chest to steady myself. Rock-hard muscles flex under my palm, and my ability to breathe becomes compromised by a strong desire to kiss him. My insides quiver with sexual attraction ten times stronger than anything I’ve felt before.
Ryan leans down and traps me with his gaze as he lets out a low growl from the back of his throat. I can’t explain why that sound, which should be scary, is sexy as hell or why it makes my entire being want this man with a fierceness I shouldn’t feel this soon.
I can hear Mrs. Chadwick yelling through the door, but her words don’t register. Ryan’s heart beats quickly against my palm, and I assume he’s as turned-on right now as I am.
