Lindsey #2
I watch them leave while debating if I should defy my brother or stay. I could get some cleaning done, maybe even take a bath instead of having a nap.
But then I remember I need to get a gift for Moira. Ugh, Mom life.
I walk out of the open-sided tent and head toward the parking lot instead of the speed climbing event. There’s a toy store not far from here, but I’m not sure they’re open today—the downside of living in a small town is the stores are all closed on random days and times, even on Saturdays.
I pull my phone from my purse to look it up and get only two steps before I run into something hard.
A startled yelp escapes me as a solid weight slams into my body, knocking me off-balance. Gravity yanks at my spine, the ground tilting away beneath me. But before I can fall, strong hands clamp around my biceps. Air rushes past my ears, my stomach flipping with the sudden shift in direction.
In a split second, I’m upright again, feet planted, chest flush against a sturdy and warm chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale a breath, the scent of cedar and spicy vanilla wafting into my nose.
“Are you okay?”
The deep male voice thrums through my body like the vibrations of a guitar string.
If my pussy could meow, I think she’d be doing it.
I was horny before, but that voice mixed with his warm body and touch has clicked the lock of my self-imposed chastity belt wide open.
I don’t even know what he looks like, but in a way, I don’t think I even need to.
“Miss?”
Did he just call me miss? I think I love him already. People usually call me ma’am now that I’m over thirty.
I take in another breath and open my eyes, but part of me wishes I hadn’t. If I didn’t have thick thighs and he wasn’t looking at my face, he’d have seen me squeeze my legs together because holy lumbersnack.
Determined hazel eyes stare into mine. They’re a mix of blue and green with flecks of golden brown and a dark-brown ring around the iris.
The midday sun above us only adds to their power, drawing me in and making me forget my own name and the fact that I’m pressed against a strange man who I’m staring at like a cut of Wagyu beef.
“Do you need help?” His light-pink lips, framed by a well-trimmed dark-brown, nearly black beard mixed with silver hairs, say the magic words that finally break me from my spell.
“No, no. I’m fine.”
He makes no move to pull away, but I don’t, either.
His hands on my biceps squeeze gently as he studies me with those beautiful eyes of his.
My nipples, which, like my vagina, have a mind of their own all of a sudden, harden against what feels like a very muscular chest. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I step back, forcing him to drop his grip.
“You sure?” his velvet voice rumbles.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.
” I cross my arms over my tank-top-clad chest and look down at the ground.
While I’m curvy everywhere else, my boobs are small, so I only wore a thin bralette under my shirt.
If I leave my hands down, this insanely attractive man will see my headlights.
“It’s okay. I wasn’t, either. I’m glad you’re okay.”
He clears his throat with a sound almost like authority.
The tone of it has my gaze snapping to his without thinking.
His eyes are partially closed now to block out some of the sun, and to avoid looking at the rest of him or falling into a trance staring at his eyes, I focus on his nose.
It’s a nice nose. A perfect nose. Is having a nose fetish a thing?
“Miss?”
“Uh, yeah?” My voice comes out in a weird and squeaky tone that has him chuckling.
“Are you sure you’re good?”
I dare a glance at his eyes once more but force myself not to look anywhere else. I think I’m going to find every single body part, down to this man’s ankles, attractive. At least I’ve already seen his eyes, right?
“I’m good. Just tired.” I don’t know why I told him that—I felt like I had to justify my weird behavior, I guess.
The stranger’s hazel pools study me, and after a second, it’s almost as if he’s staring at me with disapproval. I dip my chin to the ground and drop my arms from my chest, hiking my purse up my shoulder and slipping the phone I’d managed to hold on to into the main pocket.
“Sorry I ran into you again,” I mutter. “Have a nice day.”
I hear a sound slip from his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but I don’t wait to hear what it is.
I walk off, not looking back. And while I’m not positive he’s watching me walk away, I swear I feel the weight of his stare on my back.
My skin prickles, and my nipples, which haven’t gotten the memo to chill, become so stiff they hurt.
I cross my arms over my chest again, weaving my way through people.
When I get to my car, I pull out my keys then stop and look at my reflection in the driver’s side window.
My medium-length brown hair mixed with blond highlights is ruffled and a bit frizzy from the summer heat and my run-in with Mr. Perfect Nose.
My chest is heaving from the mad dash I made to get away, and despite the light makeup I put on this morning and the flush on my cheeks, I do look tired.
There are imprints under my eyes from lack of sleep, and the spark my brown pools once held is long gone. Not only from being exhausted, but from the last several years of my life, too.
I could listen to Nathan, stay here, and…hell, maybe Mr. Perfect Nose/Pretty Eyes is single. I did want a lumbersnack to throw me around. And that man…just by the strength of his hands and chest, I know he could throw even my plus-size frame around. That voice, too…
Shivers run up my spine, and I close my eyes to collect myself.
I should turn around and go watch the games.
I should listen to my brother and take advantage of the time I’m child-free.
But that nagging voice in my head drowns out my needs and desires.
I’m a mom first, and I’ve been slacking.
I forgot about this slumber party, and Kas can’t show up empty-handed.
I also can’t forget my little A-frame cabin is a mess. It’s gotten bad this week after I worked a couple of extra shifts to help pay off the lawyer fees I accumulated fighting dumbass Jeremy for primary physical custody and child support.
I nibble on the inside of my cheek. It’s something I tend to do—biting my nails is another—when I’m stressed. However, there are no nails left to bite at this point.
My phone pings, snatching me from my thoughts, so I fish it out of my purse.
It’s a text from work asking if I can take a morning shift next week.
I quickly respond that I can, grateful for the extra money, then decide it’s a sign I need to tackle my responsibilities—no lumbersnacks or sex for me.
I have shit to take care of that’s more important.