Chapter 1 – Rhiannon #2
Maybe it’s because I’m five-foot-six. Not short, but not tall either and there’s something about knowing a guy can toss your around that I really, really like. And this guy has some of the best arms for tossing that I’ve ever seen.
There’s something about his whole vibes that says I’m rich without trying too hard. He’s probably a banker or some finance guy from the city.
Men like him aren’t a common sight in Brookhaven, Connecticut, the rural town where I live that’s caught between New York City and Hartford like a child of divorced parents.
It houses mostly blue-collar workers who don’t own a suit or a razor.
But guys like him are like a raindrop in a cloud here in the city.
I think I’d like to mess up his hair and see if he minds. I’m guessing he would. And that makes me want to do it even more.
“I’m waiting for my food.” I wave him ahead, though I’m hardly aware of what I’m saying anymore. “You can go ahead of me.”
“Thanks,” he replies smoothly, stepping around me to place his order and ending the moment like a popped bubble.
When he’s done, he stands beside me, much closer than necessary if my calculations are correct, and they probably aren’t given I’m a little tipsy and a lot fawning over how tall he is.
The heat of him radiates against my skin, a physical presence that pulls my focus from the movie that’s playing on the screen in front of us. I’m trying to concentrate, but all I can think about is him. All I can smell is him.
I can’t tell whether it’s the shots that I’d consumed with Leo or this guy’s aroma is more intoxicating than alcohol.
How long has it been since I’ve had sex?
Oh yeah, a really, long time.
“Have you seen this one before?” he asks, nodding toward the screen.
“No,” I say, taking a chance and looking at his face again.
Big mistake. Those glasses are doing things for me and the green eyes behind them look like two, tired gemstones. “But I’m a big fan of Vanessa Mayers. How about you?”
“Haven’t seen it either,” he says with a shrug.
“I was asking if you like Vanessa Mayers, not if you’ve seen the film.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, and when he smiles, I’m momentarily blinded by his perfectly straight teeth. A dimple carves into his jaw, hardly concealed by the dark, short cut beard he keeps on his face, and for the first time, I notice the thick sweep of lashes framing his eyes.
Dammit.
I like the way he laughs.
I like his face.
I like his eyes.
I like his body.
And I love the glasses.
Everything about this guy isn’t good for my libido. There needs to be a flaw, something that has me grabbing my hotdogs and fries and saying adios! And I have a strong feeling whatever that thing is it’ll appear when he opens his mouth and starts talking about stocks or market trends.
You know, the type of stuff corporate bros like him probably enjoy discussing.
I’m not usually this cynical it’s just that I swore off men. Sort of. I’ve been focused on bringing in the twenty-eighth year of my life without their drama and controlling tendencies.
Plus, I simply don’t have the time or energy to take care of another person in my world. I’m already letting my plant babies die because I can’t seem to manage one more living thing that requires my focus, and I definitely can’t mother a man.
“She’s not really my type,” he responds.
I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to figure out how to take that response because Vanessa Mayers is everyone’s type.
She’s beautiful and smart. Hell, she’s even my type.
Maybe this guy is into men? Which would be totally fine. My best friend Leo is. Maybe I should get his number for Leo. You know, just being a good friend and all.
Ah, but Leo just started dating Chris and seems happy...
He chuckles from beside me, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Not sure who Leo and Chris are, and I’m flattered, but I’m into women.”
Oh, shit.
“Sorry... I just assumed.”
He shrugs. “Vanessa just isn’t my type.”
“Well, that feels impossible.” I hold my hand out and begin ticking things off my fingers like a list of accomplishments. “She’s drop dead gorgeous, Yale educated, cares about the environment, an incredible actress, and huge on philanthropy. What’s not to adore?”
He hesitates. “Let’s just say... I know her on a personal level.”
My jaw falls open and closes but nothing comes out.
Who the hell is this guy?
“Excuse me. Did you just casually drop that you know Vanessa Mayers?”
He shrugs and tugs at the back of his neck like he’s disclosed too much. He’s right, he has because now I need to know everything about her and what he knows.
“Yeah.”
My eyes narrow.
“My type is… different.” His eyes dart up and down my body with one brow raised like he’s daring me to figure it out.
Wait. Is he insinuating that I’m his type? If this guy took the time to get to know me, he’d realize we’re nothing alike.
My brain short-circuits for a second, trying to decode that, but then he hits me with, “Are you here with anyone tonight?”
“No,” I manage to get out way too quickly, which, wow, real smooth of me. But honestly, I already know how this night ends if he’s even a little interested. Forget my whole “no men on my birthday” resolution. I want this one to ruin my birthday in the best possible way.
“Then do you care if I join Vanessa Mayers’ number one fan for the movie?”
Do I care?
I shake my head, too quickly, too eager, but before I can embarrass myself further, the food truck worker rings her bell, signaling our orders are ready.
The sound feels like a warning bell, one of those cinematic moments where the universe gives you a chance to back out before you make a very bad (and probably very fun) decision.
But then I glance at his forearms that are flexing under his dress shirt that’s rolled up, the way his grin turns wicked each time he looks at me, and yeah, my libido wins this argument.
I hold out a hand like a stop sign. “I have one pre-requisite if we’re going to watch this movie together.”
His brows raise.
“I’m hungry, and I really don’t want to be murdered by a stranger tonight. At least not on an empty stomach.”
He throws his head back and laughs before stepping up to the stand and gathering both of our meals into his big arms.
“No problem. We’ll eat first.”
First...
Then what’s second?
“One more thing,” I say, lifting my hand to stop him again. It’s probably cliché, maybe a bit immature, but I don’t want this interaction to extend past tonight. It can’t extend past tonight. “Nothing personal is shared tonight. No names, no phone numbers, no identifiable details.”
His brow arches, amused. “Then how am I supposed to get to know my future girlfriend?”
I shake my head. “You’re not.”
His eyes narrow slightly, heat flickering there. “I don’t like this game already.”
I try to think of an alternative, something that will give him just enough to satisfy him, but not enough to know me.
“Two lies for every truth.”
He tilts his head. “Pretty sure it’s two truths and a lie.”
“Yeah, but that gives away too much,” I say with a shrug. “For every true thing I tell you, you have to give me two lies to hide behind.”
He rubs a hand over his jaw, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s not sure if he wants to solve. “Seems complicated.”
I toss him a wink over my shoulder as I start walking toward the lawn to find us new seats. “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while. Just play along, suit.”
He follows, that deep, rough chuckle rolling out of his chest, and God help me, I can’t wait for later tonight.