Page 21 of Aim Assist

Drinks. Ha. There's no way he wasn't talking about something more, right?

Maybe.

Fuck. Why am I getting so confused over the signals he's putting out? Maybe it's because he has shown zero real signs of wanting me. A little flirting before he left, sure. But is that him shooting his shot just to try, or does he really, actually, for real want me?

Shit. Am I seriously upset that a man acted like a perfect gentleman? Isn't that what we want out of them?

Jesus. I'm going insane. I'm second-guessing my ability to read men, and that sucks. Stupid Paul Dicklestick.

Guilt twists in my gut as I suddenly think about Trick, the other gentlemanly man I met recently. Granted, it's all online, and it's a one-sided internet crush, but—what about Trick?

I developed an internet crush on him and twenty-four hours later I'm ready to bump and grind all over another man's lap?

Am I in my slut phase?

Fuck. I'm a mess.

Sighing, I turn away from the mirror. "Get it together, Amy. You're a big girl. You don't need a man to be happy."

The words ring hollow even in my own ears. I may not need a man, but damn if I don't want one. Or two.

Lucky yips, drawing my attention. She's sniffing every inch of the room, her little tail going wild. At least someone's enjoying themselves.

"Alright, girl. Let's go explore." I grab her leash and my key card, taking one last glance in the mirror.

Yep. Definitely beach-ready. And if I run into a certain tall, handsome driver…

Fuck. I really need to get control over my own thoughts.

Rolling my eyes at my reflection, I snatch my oversized sunglasses off the dresser. Slipping them on, I yank open the door—

And slam right into a wall of muscle.

"Oof!" The air rushes out of my lungs as I stumble back, arms flailing. Strong fingers wrap around my wrist, another arm snaking around my waist to steady me.

Fire explodes from every point of contact, and all of them verge straight to that sweet little place between my legs that leaves me a blubbery mess around desirable men.

Holy shit.

Did I summon him?

"Whoa there." The deep, amused rumble of Liam's voice sends all kinds of delicious shivers right through me. "You alright?"

I blink up at him from behind my shades, momentarily dazed by his proximity. I'm surrounded by the smell of his cologne, so fresh and clean. I want all my clothes to smell like him. Surround myself in him.

This close, I can see the faint stubble along his perfect jaw, the laugh lines crinkling the corners of his striking eyes, the way… I apparently turn into a freaking teenager throwing description at every miniscule part of his face. What am I about to salivate over next? His nose hair?

I am not this girl. I need to get back to the real me.

"I, uh." Brilliant, Amy. Very articulate. I clear my throat and straighten up, acutely aware of his hands still on me. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Sorry about that."

"No worries." His lips quirk, but he doesn't let go. Instead, his fingers move in the gentlest little caress that has my brain cells imploding. "I was coming to see if you wanted to grab that drink early. Apparently, it's happy hour."

Oh, God. That drink. The invitation that's been replaying in my head on a loop since he first suggested it. And now here he is, looking like he stepped right out of a goddamn cologne ad, asking me again.

My mouth goes dry. I should say no. I'm here for work, not to hook up with the first gorgeous man I meet. Even if he has an ass that won't quit and hands that could do sinful things to my—

Nope. No. Bad Amy.

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