5. Teala #2
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 fish 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 serious, 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 anyway. 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 on 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.