Page 13 of Tempting

Does it matter?

I shake myself out of my thoughts on the ride down to the first floor and thank Chadwick for the food just as a roly-poly brown, white, and black furball comes bounding inside the building and slides across the marble floor to a bouncing halt on top of my feet before he starts sniffing my ankles. “Oh my... aren’t you the cutest thing?”

I bend over and run my hand over the pup’s big head, digging my fingers into his soft fur. I giggle as my new friend immediately rolls over and twitches one of his fat little paws while I hit an apparently good spot.

“Better watch out,” the deep, sexy voice belonging to the man who has been haunting my thoughts tells me. “Gordie knows exactly how to play you to get what he wants.”

“Is that right?” I ask, careful to smile at the dog. Not the man.

The man who looks deliciously sexy in a pair of gray sweatpants and a tight navy-blue Revolution t-shirt. His dark messy hair falls in his eyes, like he’s run his hands through it a few too many times, and I wonder what it would feel like to dig my fingers into it.

He looks down at me with heat in his baby-blue eyes, and I swear for just a single second, his pupils dilate, and nervous butterflies take flight in my stomach.

Fun fact I learned in med school... It’s clinically proven your body releases oxytocin and dopamine, giving your brain a boost, when you’re sexually attracted to someone. Hence, your pupils appearing to dilate.

When I get nervous, I turn into a human encyclopedia.

And this is why I don’t date.

Well, not the only reason.

Not even the top reason, really.

Lack of time . . . Lack of trust . . . Lack of decent men . . .

The list goes on.

We haven’t even gone on our fake date yet, and I’m already a nervous wreck. How am I supposed to make any of this believable tomorrow?

Better question—what the hell is wrong with me?

This is Nixon. My best friends’ brother who knew me when I had braces and bad glasses. It’s never been weird between us, and now I’m making it weird.

And now I’m arguing with myself.

Way to go, me.

“Oh yeah?” I pull up my proverbial big-girl panties and try to look up at him playfully from behind my glasses. Much chicer glasses now. “He gets whatever he wants, huh? Did he learn that from his owner?”

Huh... I’m kind of proud of myself. That might actually pass for flirting. Go me.

A slow, sexy grin spreads over Nixon’s scruffy, handsome face before he bends down to clip a leash onto Gordie’s collar and runs his hand up and down the back of the adorable dog’s neck.

The pup whines quietly when his owner stands back up, and I might actually be in agreement with the dog. I wouldn’t mind this particular Sinclair running his hands along my body either. I bet he knows exactly what he’s doing. Which would at least make one of us.

Oh. My. Goodness... And now I’m jealous of a dog.

“What’cha thinking that’s got your cheeks blushing like that, Mac?”

His words are teasing and soft but remind me, yet again, how out of my league Nixon really is. I try to ignore him as I stand and head for the elevator, but the closer he is, the harder it seems to be.

“I’m thinking I’m hungry, and I ordered way too much food, judging by the weight of this bag,” I admit sheepishly as we step on and watch the doors close us in. “I like to be able to have a little bit of everything, so there’s always extra.”

“It smells pretty damn good,” he groans. “Way better than the grilled fish and rice sitting in my fridge, waiting to be warmed up.”

“I’ve got plenty to share, if you’re in the mood for some Chinese and Netflix.”

“Mackenzie Hayes... are you asking me to Netflix and chill?”

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