Chapter Five

Teala

His dark brows knit together in confusion and his full lips twist in wry amusement. Even in amused confusion his face remains in complete symmetry. Macs may very well be the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. If it weren’t for his overtly large muscles, his appearance lends to that of a high fashion model. The type of man you see in magazines or in movies. You get to look, but never touch.

If there is a God, he has a messed up sense of humor. Why is it that men, the species that barely contributes to procreation, get better looking with age, and women, the ones responsible for giving birth and harboring monthly periods for fifty-plus years, wilt? Literally: tits, ass, thighs, slowing metabolism—the works. Women have to work harder at the gym every single year. Looking at Macs, who is the same exact age as me, forces displaced anger and discontent. It’s not fair, and there’s no one to blame except genetics.

He runs a hand through the side of his perfectly sculpted hair and it draws my gaze up from his mouth. He shakes his head, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Typically I don’t talk about myself. Why don’t you tell me about yourself if you’re so keen on talking instead.”

I want instead, but I can’t have it. Not tonight anyways. It’s a shame. Perhaps the biggest shame on the planet.

“It’s obvious you didn’t want to actually go on a date with me,” I deadpan. “Not a real one, anyways.”

He shrugs. “It’s obvious you want more than a date with me,” he counters. “I can make this a real one pretty quickly.” His lips twitch.

Puffing my own lips out, I release a held breath.

I turn away from him. I see a couple of my yoga studio patrons staring in my direction, so I force a smile to my face. It’s still on my face when I turn back to him. “You want to know about me? You actually care to know trivial details of a person you just met?” I ask. One glance tells me all I need to know about Macs. He has a single-minded focus with regard to the opposite sex. I can’t be upset about that. It’s a sentiment I share fully.

He has a mouthful of food sliding around his mouth. “I asked, didn’t I?”

Oh, he’s such the charmer. He’s used to getting whatever he wants, and I guess it’s obvious at this point he isn’t getting me. Not tonight. Even if I’d love nothing more than to take him home and show him exactly how amazing I am at ‘sex and sayonara’. I think it would impress him. Maybe.

“I’ll take it you’ve learned basic details about me from Ryan. Hopefully not too much,” I end with, suddenly embarrassed. I’ve had sex with his friend. Why doesn’t he find that unappealing?

Macs throws a finger in the air and signals to the waitress to bring him another beer. He uses a lewd, dimpled smile to thank her. I shiver. It’s an automatic response.

“Moose,” he corrects, “told me a lot of things. Now I’m hesitant to believe anything he told me is truth.” Oh, fiddlesticks. He does know sexual details. “By all means, tell me anything you think I should know about you.” Using the side of his thumb, he traces his bottom lip back and forth.

Sliding my head from one side to the other, I bring up a hand to cradle the back of my neck, a nervous gesture warranted in this new foreign territory. I’m sticky with a light sheen of sweat. “To be honest, you’re making me nervous,” I say, averting my gaze.

“I get that a lot,” he replies, his voice sending a wave of desire coursing through my veins. A mere voice, something that is usually innocuous, affects me. This is going to be harder than I anticipated. Who cares if I win some stupid bet with my friends, anyways? Is it that important?

“You didn’t let me finish. I’m nervous because I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone so self-absorbed.” Now I look at him. If I was hoping to offend him, even mildly, I’ve failed. His beatific smile and his motherfucking dimples tell me the opposite is true. “I get it. I do. But you can turn off the charm. It won’t work on me.” These aren’t small, cute dimples like Moose has. These are melt my panties off hot.

“Turn it off?” he asks, palming his wide chest with one hand. “I haven’t turned it on yet. Charm me with details about yourself.”

The waitress drops off his beer and scurries off when I send a disenchanted look her way.

I take a sip of my untouched drink. Watered down vodka. “What I would usually tell a date is that my apartment is in walking distance to this restaurant and I expect you to be out of my house before morning.” I press my lips together and wait for him to respond.

He raises one brow. “Moose didn’t lie then.”

No, I’m a sexual deviant with a penchant for jumping bones at the first sight of muscle.

I shake my head. “He told you the truth. That’s my usual protocol, but tonight is different,” I reply. My heart thumps against my chest in excitement. “Unfortunately.

“I’m turning over a new leaf and ding, ding, ding, you’re the winner!” A tiny uncomfortable laugh escapes my mouth. “I mean, you lost in actuality. Now that I’ve met you, I know you’re my old type. I need to find a guy who wants to date like regular people and not have sex until the third or fourth date.” At his wide-eyed stare I continue, “It’s completely insane. My friends think it’s important for me to find someone normal after my life full of meaningless sex.” I shrug and play at nonchalance. If I don’t make a huge deal about this, maybe he won’t embarrass me too much.

“Can you start tomorrow?” he asks, rubbing his arm with a large solid hand. “I’ll make tonight more than worth it. I promise.”

Oh, fuck, would he ever.

“I’ll make tonight everything.”

My panties are soaked and he hasn’t even touched me. His voice and appearance are enough to force faltering resolve. He mistakes my silence for acceptance.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers, leaning in closer. He brushes my hair behind my ear. His fingers sweep the skin at the nape of my neck. “I want you so bad, Teala. Please. Let me have you. One night.” His words are a direct hit. He touches on everything that makes him desirable. There’s only one way to squelch this before it goes further. Honesty.

I sigh. “I have a business degree and I hated college. My yoga studio is my life. I’m almost always there. I don’t have pets because I’m still working on houseplants. I’m sort of messy, but particular with certain things like refrigerator organization. I don’t eat salad on dates because I’m worried men might think I actually love it. The color teal is not my favorite color…it’s actually red, or orange. I talk to my mom every day, sometimes a few times a day because I love her. She’s the reason I have any sort of good attributes to my name.”

Macs doesn’t move away as I speak. His breaths are heavy against the side of my neck.

“Go on,” he demands.

I swallow, my neck working. I’m baffled. He doesn’t want to know more. How annoying must it be to pretend to care about the inner workings of another person. Especially one you just met. “If I humor you, you need to back off a bit. You’re coming on stronger than a Cat 5 hurricane.”

He growls. An actual audible noise of frustration and lust. “Every word you say makes me even harder. I’m not backing off. Quite the opposite. I will listen to everything you have to say until there is nothing left to say. That’s when actions come in to play, and, Teala?” he asks.

I nod, a quick gesture to signal him to go on.

“That’s when I’m going to show you what you’re doing to me. Up close and personal.”

Dirty talk that isn’t confined to bedroom walls is always the hottest. I can make eye contact with a stranger while Macs promises me nasty things. Do I know that it’s not normal to desire him so quickly? Yes and no. Any hot-blooded woman would desire him. Most would never act on their desires. Would a normal woman be offended or put off by his forward suggestions? I’m not sure I can answer that affirmatively either. I want him and I’m blinded by it.

I realize Macs is complicated. I’m probably even more so. This is a player meeting a most worthy opponent. There cannot be any winners tonight. The longing multiples with each and every breath I take in his proximity and you can taste the want in the air between us. Looking him square in his dreamy eyes, I go on. “Most days I don’t take off my workout clothing. I enjoy reading when I have spare time. Or baking. Chai tea is one of my favorite drinks.”

“I could get you out of your Lululemon any day of the week.” His statement momentarily breaks my focus. “Naked is more comfortable than any clothes can be.”

I bite my lip to stifle a laugh. A quick appraisal of his clothing tells me he’s also well dressed. He’s so attractive that trivial things like his clothing take a back seat. I wonder, briefly, what he would look like wearing tattered clothing suited for under a bridge of a highway. As I study his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw, I conclude it wouldn’t matter. Not one bit. I would fuck a homeless man who looked like Macs.

I smile to cover the uneasiness my realization has brought. “You like workout clothing? Are you a spandex/lycra blend connoisseur?”

“Tight ones that hug perfect curves? You could say I’m down with them. I spend a lot of time at gyms.” He raises his brow as if to insinuate the fact should be obvious. “I’m skilled in the art of gym clothing.”

I push my plate away and down the rest of my drink. Looking at the ceiling and the bottom of my almost empty glass, I try to ignore my cell phone vibrating on the bench next to me. “Well, that’s one fact I can add to the list of things I know about you. Something we have in common as well.”

Backing away from me a bit, he tilts his head back a touch and looks at me down his straight nose. “I have a quote for you, Teala. It will tell you more about me than any basic conversation.”

I swallow. “Getting a little hipster-emo on me? Can’t say I expected that.”

His tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip. My heart rate responds immediately. What would kissing him feel like? What would his lips on my skin do to me? Would I even survive his brand of passion mixed with attractiveness? I’d survive just fine, I realize. I’d want more. A taste—a night—would never be enough.

“I can’t say I expected to tell you anything about myself,” Macs replies. “I expected we’d be fucking right now.”

I don’t respond with words, just a face that probably looks pretty similar to my orgasm face.

Tipping his head back, he drains his beer. I think he might have an alcohol problem, too. From the little exposure I’ve had to Navy SEALs I’d be willing to bet that most of them can either drink like fishes and still remain highly functioning, or they’re all raging closet alcoholics. “I don’t plan to see you again. I can be emo if I want.” His posture changes and he scoots away from me even farther. The spell has broken and this frog prince doesn’t need kissing. He needs an escape route.

His honesty catches me off guard and I can’t help the sting of disappointment even if I expected it. “Of course,” I say, nodding. “Quote your life. I’m intrigued. For mere entertainment purposes at the very least. We might as well finish our dinner and make the most of it.” I’m embarrassed as I think of the mundane, stupid facts I told him about myself. He doesn’t care about them, or me.

“Tay-la,” he says, pronouncing it in two syllables.

I glance at his face.

His lips press into a firm line. “No one ever got to the top of their ivory tower, gazed out the window, and said, ‘That was easy.’ Open the door to the back stairwell. It’s teeming with blood, sweat, tears, and piles of steaming bones.”

My mouth pops open a touch and his gaze darts down. He catches himself and brings his eyes to meet mine. “I get it. That is basically the soundtrack to my life.”

“Then don’t look so disappointed.”

I glare at him. “I’m not disappointed.”

He raises one brow. “No?”

My phone vibrates again, reminding me of why I am disappointed. I grab my iPhone with the intent to silence it completely and I see at least a dozen texts from my friends. Most of the texts look to be inspirational quotes they’ve mutated to resemble “don’t have sex” instead. The most recent is from Jasmine. It reads: Hang in there, baby. Don’t make one.

Rolling my eyes, I toss my phone into my bag. “Fine. I’m disappointed I’ll have to face my friends tomorrow empty-handed so to speak. Not that I’m not bringing you home. I mean, I guess there will be a little bit of remorse because you’re so good-looking and I’m sure you’d be a good lay, but it’s mostly that I’ll have to start over. How the hell am I supposed to find a guy who doesn’t want sex?”

Macs laughs. “You really are serial, aren’t you?”

“I’m considering bringing you home and lying about it. That about sums it up?”

He shakes his head. “I won’t damn your soul to hell if you fib.” He’s all white, straight teeth, scruffy jaw, and fucking dimples.

I blink a few times to clear the haze he creates.

I’m going to do it. I have nothing to lose. “Or you could pretend to be my boyfriend for a little while, and I promise I’ll blow your mind at the acceptable time.” I tell him the whole deal. About the trip to Vegas and everything. I spill details that are messy and immature. He isn’t put off at all. At best he is completely amused. “I promise, dear God, I promise to make this worth it for you.”

“Isn’t it kind of a lie still? If I agree, we’re pretending anyways. Why couldn’t you pretend, but still let me fuck you tonight?”

I turn my face to the ceiling. “Because maybe pretending with someone will prepare me for a man who really wants me forever.” I return his honesty with a dose of my own. “Maybe my friends are right. A relationship might be worth it. Even if it is pretend.”

He swallows, then cracks his knuckles one by one. His eyes fixate on each finger as he goes. His hands are rough and soft at the same time. The backs are smooth, with a speckling of hair. Perfectly shaped fingers—not too skinny or too fat. His palms are rough and calloused, but not so much that it would be considered a detriment. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but I can tell he’s closed himself off completely.

“It’s a stupid idea. This is a first date. You just met me. I’m insane. My God, I’m insane. My mother would be mortified if I told her. Forget I said any of this. I’ll pick up the check for dinner, and we can be on our way. My friends have made me insane.”

“Here’s the thing. I’ve never been in a relationship. I wouldn’t know how to pretend properly. I will admit that I’m intrigued by the idea because of that fact and nothing else.”

Well, that stings a little.

“What would it entail exactly? And how long until I get you naked?”

My face must register shock, because he continues. “I’m always up for a challenge. Don’t read into it. You are hot. You proposed a situation I’ve never been propositioned with before. If we’re going to do this, we have to do it right. Hand me your cell phone.”

Hesitantly, without taking my eyes off his, I find my phone by touch and lay it on the table in front of us. He opens it with a swipe to pull the camera up. He smiles when he reads the text messages bubbling up my screen. He scoots next to me, so close that I smell the sweet musk of his cologne, and he raises the phone. “Smile, Teala. It’s our first selfie!”

A smirk is all I can force before the flash blinds us. He hands the phone back to me.

“Send that to your friends. Challenge accepted.”

I don’t want to send the picture. I want to keep him to myself for a little longer. A man like Macs can’t be kept by anyone. Not even the most attractive woman in the world and definitely not a messed up, commitment-phobe like myself. I hit send and anticipate the onslaught of texts back. I glance over at Macs. His own cell phone is in his hand and he’s swiping left faster than I thought was possible.