Page 55 of From Fling to Ring

I’ll keep eating the damn things until my plate is cleaned, stomachache be damned.

“The other women you date, what do they eat?” I ask, popping a wayward blueberry into my mouth.

He wrinkles his face as he thinks. “Salad with no dressing. The occasional piece of low-carb bread.”

I burst out laughing. “No way.”

He nods. “I am not kidding. It’s so fucking weird. So anyway, what did you think of the party last night?”

“Oh, it was great. You know, I mostly hung out with the girls, except for when I had to chase that awful woman away, the one with the accent like Count Dracula. Seriously, you should have seen her eye-fucking you. I’m surprised she didn’t bend over the buffet table, lift her dress, and ask you to do her from behind.”

Tyler covers his mouth just in time to laugh. “Damn. You almost made me spit my eggs out.”

This time, I reach to wipe the corner of his mouth.

“It was lots of fun. Even though you made me leave early.” I throw him a flirty smile.

He shrugs. “I didn’t hear you protesting, especially when we were in the backseat of my car.”

Heat blasts over my face and dammit, I’m blushing. I hate that. “You are right, there were no protests coming from me. And I was thinking… maybe we should do that again. Like, soon.”

He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I think we better not have this conversation right now.”

I lean over the table. “Oh my God. Are you getting a hard-on?” I whisper. “Right in the middle of a brunch place?”

He looks from side to side. “Can you please be quiet?” he hisses, trying not to laugh.

I put on my best mean-teacher face. “That’s nasty, Tyler. There are children in this restaurant. Children whose parents don’t want their kids exposed to some dude who can’t keep his dick under control?—"

“Oh my God, stop,” he groans.

“They don’t care that you’re some hockey-playing hotshot, honey. Not when you’re about to whip it out in a crowded restaurant and give yourself a little relief.”

Holy shit. I am on a roll. Who knew tormenting this guy would be so much fun?

I mean, wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

He closes his eyes and sighs, then leans closer, as close as he can get without dipping his T-shirt in his eggs. “For what it’s worth, any erection I had is now gone. Long gone.”

I swipe my hand across my forehead in a dramatic move. “Ohthankgod. I thought for real that I might have to be bailing you out of jail. And I have a busy day ahead, so I really don’t have time for that shit. Plus, I don’t have the cash anyway. You’d be totally screwed unless someone from the team came to your aid. And I don’t suppose you’d want them to know about your little… problem.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I give up.”

I am so winning, here.

“Oh, Tyler, thank you again for the dress. Or should I be thanking Ruby? Anyway, I’ve never worn anything so beautiful, although you did get a little… you know, on it. That’s okay, though, because I have a great dry cleaner near me who I’m pretty sure specializes in removing bodily fluids, at least that’s what the sign in his window says?—”

“Well! Look who it is!”

Oh no. Just, no.

“Hello, Iris,” I say with fake perkiness.

A huge smile stretches across the face of my new literary agent, a supposed old friend of Michaela’s, which I find suspect because she’s annoying as hell and my boss is anything but.

She looks at Tyler, then back to me.

Right. Introduction time.

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