I deadpanned. “You told me I should look someplace more respectable for my dates.”
“I thought you deserved better.”
“I think you’re full of sh*t. You’re only being nice now because you know I was looking for a night of no strings attached, and you think you have a shot at being my replacement.”
“Am I out of the running?”
I took a moment to check him out again. Damn, he’s pretty. “You’re only hanging on by a thread because you’re gorgeous.”
A slow, sexy smile spread across his face. “I like your honesty.”
“I like your jawline.”
His eyes gleamed. “You’ll like my big di¢k even better.”
I bit my bottom lip. The conversation had just taken a turn toward most of my Tinder messages—definitely a place I was more comfortable than talking about why I wanted to forget my life for a while. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“How did you know the Tinder loser wasn’t?”
Good point. I sipped my wine. “How old are you?”
“Old enough that I know what to do with you, and young enough that I don’t have to take a pill to do it.”
I smirked. “Is that so? You know what to do with me?”
He smiled self-assuredly. “I do, yes.”
The air crackled between us. For some reason, I knew this guy could deliver on his promise. Maybe it was his quiet confidence, or maybe it was that a man who looked the way he did got lots of practice. The latter would’ve been a turnoff if I was looking for more than one night, but it didn’t much matter if it served my purposes for a one-time deal.
I looked into his too-blue eyes. “Tell me then.”
“Tell you what?”
“What you would do with me.”
The wicked grin that slid across his face almost made me want to take back what I’d asked. Almost.
Beck lifted his glass and gulped his drink before leaning over to my ear. “I’d start by…
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