Page 25 of Eat Your Heart Out

“For not assuming I’m a douchebag.” He smirks sexily and my stomach tightens. “So, your friend dragged you out tonight?”

I nod, glancing past him to try to locate Lisa. “She’s always trying to get me out.”

“What made you agree?”

With a shrug, I say, “It’s Christmas. Why not get merry, right?”

His lips quirk into the ghost of a smile, then his gaze drops to skim over my body as he asks in a low, seductive tone, “You’re a bit of a homebody?”

Warmth floods my veins and my response comes out breathier than intended. “More like a work body.”

“It’s certainly a good body.”

I snort accidentally, but come on. “Smooth.” My lips twitch on a smile even as my belly tightens in response to the heat of his stare. The line was cheesy at best. Offensive, possibly, had it come from anyone else. I scan the men nearby; every last one of them reminds me of my ex. This place is just one big dick measuring contest if I’ve ever seen one.

So, yeah, had one of these tools fed me that line, I would have laughed it off and found the nearest exit.

But this guy… now that’s a different story.

Looking back up into those impossibly dark brown eyes, I cock an eyebrow and tilt my head.

Screw it. I’m diving in head first. “Are you going to ask me to hold it against you now?”

He chuckles, looking down as he runs his hand over the back of his neck bashfully. “No, but I can see how it might seem like that’s where I was headed.” He grimaces and I smile. “Can we start over?”

Lifting my hand between us for another handshake, I say, “Sure. But I was kind of hoping you’d ask me to hold it against you.”

The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them. But as they sit there in the air, suspended by nothing but shock and awe, my eyes widen. How easily it could be to just reach up and pluck them out of the air—if life was fair and forgiving.

Since it is neither of those things, I just stand here awkwardly, heat creeping up my chest to my neck.

“You just said that last bit out loud,” he drawls.

“I did.” I press my lips between my teeth, then squeeze my eyes shut. “I think this might be my cue to leave.”

His hand slides beneath my jacket and the wind leaves my lungs. My eyes fly open as he splays his palm over the curve of my hip. Not aggressively, but firmly.

I fucking love it.

“I think that would be a mistake, Sophie.”

Ah, I fucking love that too, the way he says my name.

“Your place or mine?”

The responsible part of me panics. He’s so forward—and we just met. “I don’t know anything about you.” I’m trying really hard to listen to that little voice of preservation, but… look at this man.

He nods deferentially, his expression sobering. “My apologies. The name’s Dawson Riggs. I’m thirty-three. I live in New Orleans.” He pauses, smiling cheekily. “That’s in Louisiana, if you aren’t aware.”

I laugh a bit too loudly—damn nerves. “I’m familiar.”

“I run a lumberyard during the day that has been in my family for generations,” he says proudly. That would explain the strong hands, the outfit. After a moment, he adds, “And I live with my mama.”

My eyes widen slowly, but I fight to keep my expression blank even though he’s just raised a pretty big red flag in my face. At twenty-nine years old, the last thing I need is a man who still lives at home.

Even as far as one-nighters go, my standards are higher.

Or, they should be.

---