The Hot One

He whistles. “You’ve got cojones. Oh, and feel free to call me when you need to post bail.”


I spin my coaster. “Don’t worry, Travers. I’ve got you on speed dial.”

But I’ve got something else in mind—something that doesn’t involve my balls on a Jumbotron.





22





Delaney



* * *



Tyler stands in my sliver of a hallway, his eyes closed.

I run my fingers lightly through his lush brown locks, savoring the soft feel of his thick hair. I could do this for a while. But we have a party to go to.

“Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

His eyes are closed. The hairstyle I picked for him is a surprise. I slide the banana-blond wig over his skull, tucking his brown hair into the wig cap. He smirks and smiles the whole time. He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, per my instructions.

I adjust the wig, then I tell him to stand still as I grab a red-checked bandana from the coffee table. I tie that around his forehead, tucking it under the bright bangs. He wiggles his eyebrows as I do that.

Next, I grab some leather wristbands and snap them on his right arm.

“I’m going to look so hot,” he says.

I drop a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Even like this, yes, you are.” I step back, appraising my handiwork. Technically, Gigi’s fete isn’t a costume party so I didn’t plan to go full-on dress-up, but I couldn’t help myself once I saw the wig. I had no choice but to accessorize it.

I put my hands on his shoulders and walk him to the mirror. “Open your eyes.”

He does as told, and his laughter starts with a trickle, then small little burst. Then, like a dam unleashed, it becomes a waterfall of belly laughs.

He shakes his head at his reflection and turns to me. “I’m your Axl Rose, angel. You got me a mullet.”

A grin spreads. “And no one has ever rocked a mullet like you have.”

“You do have a big thing for hair bands.” He runs a palm over the too-bright blond hair that’s spiky on top and long on the sides.

I hope he knows it’s a compliment that I picked this look for him. Sure, it’s ironic, but it’s also a nod to one of my guilty pleasures. “You do know I had a huge crush on Axl Rose back in the day?”

He runs the back of his fingers over my cheek. “I am one hundred percent aware of that crush, and I couldn’t be more honored to rock the look. And will you be wearing a Joan Jett rocker-chick ’do?” He presses his hands together in prayer. “Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.”

I laugh and drag a hand down his chest, enjoying the feel of his hard muscles through the fabric of his T-shirt. “Just you wait.”

I head to my bedroom and shut the door. I won’t be playing Joan Jett or Belinda Carlisle tonight. But I think he’ll like my look anyway, even though I didn’t pick it for him. I picked it for me. It’s fun, playful, and bold. It’s the opposite of the more muted looks I wear to work.

But more than anything, the wig I picked makes me happy. I twist my hair up, tuck it into a nylon cap, and then pull on a sapphire blue wig. The fake hair hits me just below the chin in a cute bob. I kick off my jeans and slip on a white dress.

For the pièce de résistance, I grab a pair of boots from my closet. Nicole tracked them down for me. She hoofed it all over the city in hot pursuit of the sexiest pair of size-ten flipper-feet ankle boots she could find. When she presented these gray beauties to me last night over happy hour drinks, she said, “A peace offering.”

I arched a brow. “There’s no need for an olive branch when you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Nicole shook her head. “I do need to make peace. Because I want you to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m here for you. I support you. When you go on your date tomorrow night, I want you to know I’m behind you.” She squeezed my hand, and her green eyes teared up. “I mean it, hon. All I want is for you to be happy. If this man makes you happy, then you should go for it, and you should have the hottest pair of boots in existence to match your little go-go outfit.” She smiled and threw her arms around me. “You’re going to look like Katy Perry.”

But after I slip on the boots, which jack me up by three inches, it’s not the pop star I look like. It’s a kids’ TV star. When I return to the hallway where Tyler’s leaning against the wall, his eyes roam my figure from head to toe. His jaw falls in slow motion like a crank is winding it wide open, as he takes me in. “You . . .”

He doesn’t say anything more. I think he might be speechless. He licks his lips and tries again. “You look . . .”

I smile and jut out a hip, giving him a sexy little pose.

He detaches himself from the wall, strides over to me, and sets his hands on my hips, clasping me tight. “I can’t believe you have just given me Smurf fantasies. But you have. You are the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen, my Smurfette.”

I’ll take that over a pop star anyway, considering what he does next.

He slams his mouth to mine. He sweeps his tongue over my lips, then insistently pushes inside my mouth. He kisses me roughly, with hunger. His stubble scratches my chin, and the whiskery burn sends a rush of heat down my chest and straight between my legs.

Already I’m hot for him, needy for him. He bends me back, demanding more from my lips, wanting all of my mouth, kissing me like it’s the only thing on earth left to do.

Kiss and crush and devour.

I moan into his mouth, and he swallows all my sounds then kisses me impossibly harder. My head goes fuzzy, my brain turning into a haze of heat.

And I know as he marks my lips, and takes what he needs from my mouth, that my quip about ninety days is going to be pretty goddamn funny later. The joke will be on me. Like 89.5 days sooner.

When he kisses me like this, and he touches me like that, I fall harder for him.

That’s what I’ve been doing all week, with the dates, and the coffee, and the breakfast, and the office visit, and the walking and talking and kissing, and the running. Through it all, I’ve been falling for this man again.

My heart hammers with the realization. It crashes against my sternum, demanding attention. And I absolutely notice it. I feel everything—the pounding against my ribcage, the flush over my skin as it turns hot, the blood speeding through the freeways in my body. Most of all, I pay attention to how every molecule in me wants to get closer to him.

These feelings scared me in the past.

They scare me again now.

But not as much, and not as deeply, and not enough to stop me. I didn’t expect to fall again so quickly, but here it is. I’m in his arms, and I know this is where I belong.

At some point, we come up for air. His eyes are fiery. Blazing with need.

He licks his lips then shakes his head like he’s clearing his thoughts. He pulls me up and cups my cheeks in his big hands. “I’m crazy for you, my Smurf.”

“Oh Tyler,” I say with a happy murmur. “I’m so crazy for you.” Then I add, with a little wink, “Axl.”