Chapter 4
GEORGIA
Mac was taking off his pants. TAKING. OFF. HIS. PANTS.
Yes, please. I needed to see that package!
I wanted to see if he had fire trucks on his underwear and how big his submarine was.
It had been too long. I hadn’t had sex with Art in the last months of our marriage because he’d been working too much, also known as he’d been fucking Pam Buttermacher. And knocking her up.
Since then, I’d sworn off men, but that vow was now broken. My libido had returned with one slide of a belt from Mac’s pants. Lord, I bet that biscuit was buttered and I wanted a taste.
“Okay,” I said, my voice and brain not working in sync.
He held the long strap of leather up in front of me. His pants were still on. His thick bulge–yeah, long and blessedly thick–and muscular thighs remained hidden but couldn’t be missed.
I licked my lips because I was hungry. Andy had eaten my bag of nuts. Speaking of nuts–
He cleared his throat. “My belt. Wrap it around your suitcase to keep it closed.”
I blinked.
Oh. My suitcase. Shit.