He opens his mouth to respond but clamps it shut almost immediately. There’s a silence for a long moment before he rubs the back of his neck and looks back at the landing behind him. A smile forms that overtakes his entire gorgeously chiseled face. He can’t be too much older than me, though he’s definitely more mature than the guys I go to school with. His features have lost that youthful boyish look that’s common to those in their early twenties, but they have yet to acquire any gray from what I can tell, and he doesn’t look seasoned just yet. He’s practically perfect in every way I can see. Oh, screw practically. All I can see is perfection, which means he must be a serial killer or he collects parakeets or has some kind of strange fetish with corn, because perfect never means perfect. It means I’m in trouble because this guy is going to crush me. Hopefully naked as I come apart around him.
“Nothing,” he finally says. His mouth is tight, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his thick neck. I should really get some self-control, but I’ve gone a whole twenty years without any, so part of me reasons that it’s too late to try to be a respectful lady now and all those etiquette lessons my mom shelled out for didn’t do crap. Taking a deep breath and fixing his attention back on my face, he smiles awkwardly before using one of his large—able to cup my ass—hands to steady himself as he leans forward. His breath washes across my cheek as he whispers into my ear, “You’re the most beautiful door-blocking woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of being held up by.”
The most beautiful?
Yes, baby Jesus, please!
Door-blocking . . .
“Oh, crap,” I say loudly. He jumps back and rubs his palm over the ear I’ve just shouted into. “I’m sorry.”
My hormones are making me more than just awkward. They’re turning me into a rude door-blocker.
But a beautiful door-blocker . . .
I don’t move. I know I should. He specifically pointed out that I’m beautiful, even if he did it while simultaneously mentioning the whole door-blocking thing. I’ve already made an ass out of myself, so why not go big? In my best attempt to look sexy, I casually lean against the same doorjamb that he’s propped himself up on, and I let a blush come to my cheeks. In a flirty voice, I ask, “Beautiful, huh?”
He smirks.
He fucking smirks.
And it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. If I can think up ways to see this man smirk repeatedly for the rest of my life, it won’t be enough. I want him, and I’m not going to be shy about it. Not that I was being shy before.
“Gorgeous,” he says with conviction. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who says things he doesn’t mean, so I go with it and let myself feel the compliment right down to my bones. “Sexy, confident . . . and still blocking the door.”
“Keep talking.” My words come out all breathy and wanton. It takes me a moment to realize he’s mentioned trying to get through the door. Again. For the third time, I think.
“You want to go inside, don’t you?” I ask, dropping the crazy slutty thing I had going on.
“Well, I didn’t come down here to just . . . stand in the doorway.” He raises an eyebrow and stares at me with wide eyes like I’m the stupidest person alive. I might be. He hitches a thumb over his shoulder. “Would you rather I piss in the ficus?”
Chapter 2
Melanie
“Um, no. But you are going to have to wait. You see, my girl’s in there, and I’m not going to do her dirty and let some strange dude in while she’s taking care of business.”
He nods his head and leans in close again.
“Good people. Confused, because this is the men’s room, but good.”
“Not confused,” I say breathily, going right back to the slutty voice. I lean in and smile through the discomfort of my thong rubbing in exactly the wrong spot. “You seen how long the lines are for the ladies’ room?”
“Hmm,” he murmurs, and his blue-gray eyes sparkle. I get lost in them for a long moment—too long—because I don’t hear the toilet flushing, or the sink running, or Royal’s heels clicking behind me until she’s on me and elbowing me in my side.
“Well, this explains a lot,” he says as he looks over my shoulder, his eyes focused on the new bestie. “You would find the one chick in this place that’s as ladylike as you are.”
“Melanie, this is Jameson,” Royal says. I take a step back and welcome her into the conversation while pondering where the hell their parents got their names from. “He’s my brother, just not the one whose heroics landed me in this pretty dress.”
“Wow.” I give her a devious smile that might threaten our new friendship but might totally be worth it when my eyes land back on her brother. “I bet this one’s heroics could land me out of my pretty dress.”
“Not much of a negotiator, are you?” he says with a raised brow.
“You haven’t heard my demands,” I say with a grin.