Chapter 3
THREE
Walker
“Fuck … I …” Those were the words that fell out of my mouth when I opened the door to my suite.
I was so taken aback by her, the standard greetings—hello, good evening, thanks for coming—were gone from my vocabulary.
All it took was for the gorgeous, petite brunette to smile, and my dick turned achingly hard.
“Fuck … what? Me? Yes, I believe that’s why I’m here.” She let out a small laugh.
A quick dip down her body showed a casual outfit: jeans and a short-sleeved shirt—tight enough that her chest, stomach, and hips were outlined. And that fucking outline not only turned me on even more, but it confirmed this whole Hooked app was well worth my time.
“I wasn’t”—I shook my head, resetting my view, which continued to get better—“expecting you.”
She turned her neck, giving me a different angle. A profile that was just as sexy as looking at her straight on. “Who were you expecting?”
“No, I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to look like this.”
“Didn’t you see my photo?”
I nodded.
“I look like that picture, no?”
“Your hair color.”
Her dark locks were like a rich béarnaise sauce—not in hue, but an accompaniment to whatever delicious treat was beneath. In this case, it was her face, and, goddamn it, it was perfect.
“Your eye color.” Even more haunting and blue in person. “And the shape of your lips. But that photo, although a good one, barely captured how beautiful you are.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Beautiful didn’t even dent her.
This woman was a masterpiece. Beyond anything I could create in the kitchen. Something that even the most experienced palate wouldn’t be able to define.
I was six foot three inches, and she came up to the bottom of my chest. Her dark hair was still wet, and a spattering of freckles was under her eyes and across her nose, like I’d tossed some cinnamon and it stuck.
The poutiness of her lips and the blue that stared back at me were putting me in a fucking choke hold.
“I can’t tell if I should apologize for a shitty profile pic or say you’re welcome.” She smiled again, this time much larger.
And that, along with her statement, made me laugh. “You’re welcome is far more appropriate.” I opened the door wider. “Come in.”
She didn’t move. “So, last time—and I’ve only done this once, a year ago, so don’t get any weird thoughts that I do this all the time—we didn’t exchange names. I guess when it’s one and done, there’s no need to call each other anything. Do you have an opinion on that?”
“I have a lot of opinions. This, however, I’m indifferent about.”
“Well then, Whiskey35”—she held out her hand—“it’s nice to meet you.”
I shook her cold, delicate fingers. My hand was so large that it swallowed hers. “Nice to meet you, TheSkyIsn’tMyLimit.” I let out a huff of air. “I can’t call you that. It’s too long.”
“How about you call me … Sky?”
“That works.”
She didn’t pull her hand back. In fact, she stayed frozen in the hallway, her stare intensifying. “Why do you look familiar?”
Fuck.
I’d dealt with this since culinary school—when I was mentored by a famous chef, and he had a video crew following him around to document his life.
I appeared so much in that documentary that once it aired, for a multitude of reasons, I began gaining attention.
But that had been before the book deals and the cookware and the opening of our restaurant empire, which only catapulted my name and reputation even more.
I was no Beck Weston. He had it far worse than me.
But it was bad enough that, for tonight, I didn’t want to be me.
I didn’t want to talk about work or my life or anything I’d experienced.
I wanted to be Whiskey35 and enjoy an evening with a woman I’d never met before—a night I was sure I would remember.
“This is LA,” I told her. “Everyone looks like someone.”
“True … but … I don’t know … there’s something about you that’s really, really familiar.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen a hundred dudes who look just like me. Hell, maybe you’ve even met one of my siblings. I’ve got a few of those.”
“Possibly.”
I nodded toward the open doorway. “Are you going to come in?”
She released my hand, and as she was walking through the doorway, I pulled a small white ball from her hair.
The contact made her pause, and she laughed as I showed her what it was. “I wolfed down a sandwich during my drive here. That must be some of the bread.”
“I would have ordered you food.”
She stared at me for several seconds, the distance between us now slim, and that gave me a moment to feel her.
To smell her. To get a sense of who she was.
Even though Sky wasn’t touching me, her presence wrapped around me.
It worked its way down my body. And it grew my hard-on, to the point where I needed to adjust myself.
She took several deep breaths before she said, “Thank you for that, but it’s not your responsibility to feed me.” She walked deeper into the suite and set her bag on one of the chairs. “And eating—at least food—isn’t why I’m here.”
“I’m just saying, I would have. That’s who I am.”
There was a buffet table near the bar, and she sat on top of it, her legs swinging as she looked around the room.
“This is over-the-top nice, but why a hotel? Do you not live in LA, or … is there a reason you didn’t want me at your place?
” Her eyes returned to me and widened. “You’re not married, are you? ”
“No.” I let go of the door, which closed, and made my way inside, standing near the chair that held her bag.
“There’s no woman in my life. I just needed a break from my house.
” I pulled at my collar; even though the top of my shirt was unbuttoned, I felt like it was choking me.
“I don’t know if that even makes sense.”
She let out a long exhale. “I needed a break from mine too. And don’t worry, I’m also single.”
“Sounds like we’re both running away from home.”
“You ran. I just followed you here. And this”—her gaze moved around the large suite again—“is nicer than any room or even bedroom I’ve ever been in. I’m afraid to know how much this cost.”
There was a table beside the chair, and I picked up her room key. “For you. I got you a room on a different floor. That gives you space and privacy. Feel free to order breakfast before you leave and take your time in the morning, you have late checkout, so there’s no reason to rush out.”
“You really want to feed me, don’t you, Whiskey35?”
I chuckled as I put the key back down.
I didn’t want to tell her that for over fifteen years, that was all I’d been doing.
I also didn’t want to mention how tiny she was and how badly I wanted to put food in her body.
She didn’t have the muscles of a runner or someone who avidly worked out.
So, her size was either due to an incredibly fast metabolism or a much darker situation.
I treaded carefully and said, “If you’re not hungry, don’t order anything. I just wanted you to know it was an option.”
“I appreciate that.” Her stare moved down the front of me. “You’re doing all these things for me. My own room … food.” She rubbed her lips together. “What can I do for you?”
“Sky, you’re already doing it.”
“How?”
“You’re here. You’re making it so I don’t have to be alone.” I didn’t realize my head had dropped until the carpet became my focus. “You’re the escape I need.” When I glanced back up, I admitted, “There’s nothing in my head right now except you. I haven’t been able to say that in a long time.”
“Everything you just said?” She pointed at her chest. “Me too.” Her legs stopped swinging and stilled.
“I was a little nervous about coming here and how it would all play out, so when you answered the door and called me beautiful, I couldn’t think straight.
What I wanted to say was that you also look much more handsome in person than in your Hooked pic.
Don’t get me wrong, the pic was hot.” She pushed her hair off her shoulders.
“But, Whiskey—I’m ditching the 35, just so you know—you’re way sexier than that photo. ”
“Yeah?” I gripped the back of the chair, feeling her gaze cover me, and laughed.
“Yeah. You’re hot in a growly kinda way.”
“Growly? I have no idea what that means.”
“Well, first off, you’re twice the size of me. As a petite girlie, thinking from a sexy standpoint, I like the thought of that. A lot.” Her cheeks blushed.
“You’re flirting with me …”
She was doing a terrible job at hiding her smile, and I knew that was the point.
“I guess I am.”
“Keep going.”
“You’ve got this facial hair that gives off I don’t give a fuck vibes.”
I chuckled again. “You’re right, I don’t.”
“So, when you combine the full beard and the size of your body and your height, you’re like a mix between a country rock singer, who growls out his lyrics, and a football player, who no one wants to go up against because you would destroy them.”
“This keeps getting more interesting.”
She puckered her lips. “And those eyes—it should be illegal to have ones that pretty. Your green changes depending on what you’re wearing, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“Damn. I hate you for that.” She smiled.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the blue I’m looking at right now.” I set my hand on top of my hair. I’d gelled it up after I showered in the room’s en suite, and since it was fresh, the strands felt extra hard.
“But green … it’s just different.” She sighed.
“Sky, you don’t need green to be different. You look like no one I’ve ever seen.” My hand dropped to my beard and ran across the length of it. “You’re fucking stunning.”
She broke eye contact, her cheeks still just as red.
“I get the feeling you have no idea how beautiful you are.” I paused. “Am I right?”
When she looked at me, a flicker of emotion passed through her expression. “The things I want to achieve, places I want to go, everything I want to learn—those are things I do know.”
I was right.
This woman had no idea at all.
“All right, I like that.”