Page 18 of Truly, Madly, Deeply

“Hi.” He tucked his hands inside the pockets of his black dress pants and rocked back on his heels, inadvertently causing the bell to chime when his ass bumped the door. His cheeks flushed and if a twisted thrill shot through her at Colin looking caught off guard, well, being petty wasn’t a crime.

Lulu’s jaw dropped.

That’s Colin? she mouthed.

Truly nodded and Lulu crudely pantomimed slapping the rear of something—someone?—in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” Truly demanded, sliding off the counter.

“A guy can’t visit his neighborhood, uh, sex shop?”

Truly’s brows rocketed to her hairline. Neighborhood? Bullshit.

“We prefer the term adult boutique,” Lulu said.

Truly harrumphed. “Are you stalking me now?”

Colin blanched. “Stalking you? Why would I be stalking you?”

“Who knows? Maybe calling me reductive wasn’t enough. Maybe you felt the need to accuse me of being something else patently false to my face.”

“Wow,” Colin intoned. His soft, sunshine-yellow button-down stretched obnoxiously across his shoulders when he crossed his arms. “Someone thinks awfully highly of themselves. And for the record, I never called you reductive. I implied that your viewpoint was reductive.”

Truly was an amalgamation of all her viewpoints, so how exactly was that any different? “What else would you be doing here?”

“Maybe he came in to do a little light shopping,” Lulu said. “All penis pumps are currently thirty percent off.”

“I’m actually not in the market for one of those, but thanks?” The pink flush sweeping across his cheeks was not adorable.

Lulu shrugged. “Yeah, I can’t really imagine anyone needing more than one.”

He blinked, absurdly long lashes fluttering. “That’s, uh, that’s not why I don’t need—”

“Hey, man.” Lulu held up her hands. “This is a safe space. I’m not here to judge what you do with your junk.”

“That’s, um, big of you.”

Lulu bared her teeth in a sharklike grin. “That’s what she said.”

Truly snorted. A mistake because it made him look at her and—those eyes were a weapon. It should be a class A felony to possess eyes that pretty a shade of brown and lashes that thick. All he had to do was flash those Bambi-eyes and people probably swooned. Not Truly, obviously. Other people. He was probably hell to go up against in court.

It took a second to realize he was just staring at her and not saying anything. Unless he’d said something, and she’d missed it? “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The corners of his eyes creased when he smiled. “Is looking at you a crime now?”

Stupid stomach of hers just had to swoop. A distant cousin of the swoon. Extremely distant. Several times removed. Truly crossed her arms. “Maybe it is.”

Colin laughed, ducking his head, toe of his loafer scuffing the mat in front of the door, looking as close to sheepish as she’d seen him. “Look, I really was in the neighborhood, okay? I work on Leary Way, and I live up on Baker Avenue near 45th. I drive past this place every day.” He looked up at her through his lashes. “I swear I’m not stalking you, Truly.”

She sniffed. “So, this is all just a big coincidence? You expect me to believe you come here often?”

One of his brows rose. “Do you?”

Touché. “That is none of your business.”

“I saw your car,” he admitted. “In the parking lot. I remembered seeing it in the garage at the studio. There aren’t that many 1968 Volkswagen Beetles painted like Herbie the Love Bug adorned with eyelashes driving around town.”

“It’s a ’69, actually.”

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