“Well, well, well, will you look at that?” Beth murmurs as I finish jotting down the notes for the appointment.
“What?” I glance up, straight at the sculpted chest of an Adonis wearing a tight gray T-shirt. And is that Salt-N-Pepa’s “Shoop” playing in the background, or is it just me?
Clearly my blood sugar is low. That’s why I grow dizzy as I crane my neck to take in the man in front of me and the warmest brownest eyes possible. “Holy shit.”
“Fleetwood,” he says, thrusting a giant hand in my direction.
“Basketball player?” I ask.
“Erm, no.” The lines at the corners of his eyes deepen. “Just tall.”
“Right. Sorry.” I slip my hand into his firm grip.
Beth nudges me in the ribs with her pointy elbow.
Oh right. I’m having a totally inappropriate response to this specimen of a man. But one side glance at my friend tells me I’m not the only one who’s having a stroke thanks to the hot, gorgeous guy in front of us. “How can I help you, er?”
“Fleetwood,” he says again. It must be his last name.
“Like the band?” I slip my hand out of his to push one of my braids behind my ear. My palm is sweaty, and my heart is racing. And my arm tingled when he shook my hand, so maybe I’m having a heart attack and it isn’t actually the man that’s making it hard for me to catch a breath.
“Something like that.” His gaze is filled with humor, like we’re sharing an inside joke.
I don’t get it.
He runs that same beefy hand that held mine over his dark hair.
“Uh, thank you.” His eyes widen and his lips pulse up in the corners.
I glance at Beth; she looks at me like I’m a lunatic.
“Oh shit. Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes,” she whispers. I don’t know why she bothers. We both hear her.
My cheeks grow hot. I could toast marshmallows on them. Not that I would, because sticky, but that’s how hot they feel as I cover my cheeks with my palms. “I meant your hair. Hair like that is a hairdresser’s wet dream.”
“Yep, wet dream,” Beth pops the p with a whole lot of sarcasm. “Are you sure that’s the term you want to go with, Sadie?”
“Absolutely.” Why wouldn’t it be?
“Wet dream, really?” Beth asks, starting to sound exasperated. What on earth has gotten into her?
And then it hits me. What the hell is wrong with me? Someone take my vitals because this has to be a stroke. Can anyone smell burnt toast? Quick, ask me who the president is.
“Oh my God.”
I gape at my friend. Gape at the man in front of me as he turns a masculine shade of pink I didn’t know existed until right this very second. And can I just say, he wears it well. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean wet dr… I have a boyfriend.”
Technically, not really. Harry and I are dating, but we haven’t had that conversation. But a little white lie never hurt anyone.
“Apparently not a very good one,” Beth quips. “Sorry, she’s not usually like this. I don’t know what’s got into her.” She rolls her gaze at me. “But I’m pretty sure I know what hasn’t got into her recently.”
It’s Misti Murphy’s latest release and it’s so f-u-n and s-ex-y and perfect, perfect, perfect for stay-at-home quarantine reading!!