Page 33 of And Then Came You

“Yes, you do.”

“A man who doesn’t hit, or feel the need to call me names. He doesn’t belittle me. Someone who won’t say my ideas are stupid, even if he thinks they are. A man who reads my novels even if he prefers thrillers. A guy who will hold me when he sleeps, the whole night. A man who holds my hand in public, not because he has to, but because he wants to. I guess it’s a pretty long list.”

I feel Sam’s gaze burning into my skin, but I don’t look up. I can’t. I don’t want to hear how unrealistic my ideals are. That’s why they’re called ideals. “I feel you looking at me.”

“And I’ll keep doing it until you look up.”

I swing my gaze to meet Sam’s. As usual, his face is cool and collected, but there’s something flashing in his eyes. I can’t be sure if it’s anger or exasperation. “Let me guess. I’m being stupid, right?”

“Not at all. I just realized how many genuine assholes you’ve dated.”

“It’s a gift.”

“That keeps on giving.” Another pull from his drink, coupled with a shake of his head. My friend does not approve of my previous choices in men. Can’t blame him. They’re hardly noteworthy. Most actually deserve a prison sentence for the shit they’ve pulled.

“What can I say? My talent is choosing the wrong guy. Every time.”

“You can change that, you know. Date a different kind of guy.”

I want to smack him. As if I hadn’t considered that idea.

“Those are all excellent qualities, Lex Lex. You deserve every single one from a man.” Sam sits up, facing me. “But I was referring to physical traits. What’s your preference? Tall, short, dark hair, blonde… the bad boy or the professor?”

My mind reels as I attempt to figure out why he’s asking about my physical ideal. “Do you want to set me up with someone? Is that it? I’ve always dated the professor type. The businessman.”

Sam clears his throat, but when I glance his way, he averts his eyes. “You like the old stuffed shirt.”

“There is something really sexy about a man in a suit.”

Another low growl emanates from Sam, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s suffering from an allergy attack or not enjoying this conversation. Hell, he started it. I was content to sit here and read. “Any guy can put on a suit.”

“True, but not every guy can truly wear one. Some men look good on motorcycles, all covered in tattoos. Other men look debonair in a tux and wristwatch.”

“Lots of women prefer the motorcycle and tattoos.”

I bite back a chuckle. I’ve bruised Sam’s precious ego. No idea how, when he has a gorgeous lady in his bed every night of the week, but I can’t help but giggle at his reaction. Time to poke the bear. What are friends for, if not to mess with each other? “Some do like the bad boy image, men like you. Others prefer the James Bond look. That’s my preference.”

“I can wear a fucking tux. Actually, I wore one last year.”

I stifle another laugh as he whips out his phone, flipping through the photos.

“See?”

The man looks delicious. Obscenely decadent in his tailored suit, that is practically bursting across his pecs. My gaze drifts down the picture to his fitted pants—wellfitted pants. Maybe those ladies weren’t kidding about the size of his cock.

Holy hell, it’s suddenly the temperature of the sun in here. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said hmm.”

“Did I?” I could keep this banter going all day, but the man looks positively stricken.

“James Bond is overrated.”

I smack his arm, releasing a scoff. “Take that back. James Bond is the quintessential man. Smooth, debonair and very sexy.”

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