Page 4 of Oh, Hell No

AH! Here it was. Okay, first thing would be their paper on what they did that summer, what they were looking forward to in second grade, and a list of their favorite things. I would need those fancy stickers to decorate the page after all.

“Excuse me,” a deep voice said, and a tingle ran through my body from the thick drawl.

My head snapped up, and I turned toward the sound.

Holy guacamole. Was it warm in here? I had a sudden need to fan myself. My face felt hot. I was too young for menopause, but whew. What had God been thinking when he made this man?

Slate-gray eyes locked on mine, and a small curl to his lips had me ready to swoon. Just like in those books Marley—my stand-in mom—read, I was gonna crumple to the floor and sigh at any moment.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he said, cutting his eyes to the stickers with summer themes I had been studying.

Thick black eyebrows lifted slightly, making his forehead wrinkle. Jesus, he even looked sexy while doing that. My gaze went to his messily-styled, ink-colored hair, and I wanted to run my fingers through it.

“I was wondering if you knew where I could find paint supplies. The aisles aren’t labeled, and I’m lost,” he said with a chuckle that I literally felt between my legs.

There was a flash of something silver on his tongue. Was that a tongue ring? It was. Oh my sweet goodness.

When a man such as this one walked into a Hobby Lobby, they should announce it over the intercom to prepare the women for this type of encounter. Because right now, I was struggling to find my words. He could have walked off a movie set. He was that gorgeous. Perfect. Not a flaw.

And here I stood, in my cutoff sweatpants; a tank top thatmight have a small ketchup stain from the burger I’d had for lunch, but was thankfully black, making the red spot hard to see; and flip-flops. I was wearing freaking flip-flops. Oh, and let’s not forget that my hair was in piggy-tails at the nape of my neck, as if I were the age of my students.

He was staring at me. Waiting on—OH!—me to respond. Crappity. I was making a complete fool of myself.

When I’d broken up with Alec, I had sworn off men for at least a year. It was almost a year, but the past eleven months had been so peaceful without him that I realized men might be more trouble than they were worth. That, of course, was before I had laid eyes on the Adonis who was still waiting on me to speak.

I cleared my throat and smiled, trying not to appear like a creepy, stalker-prone psycho. “Oh. Yes, um…” I glanced past him.

Where he needed to be was on the other side of the store. I could point, but he would likely still not find it. Hobby Lobby wasn’t for knowing where you were going. They wanted you to wander, get lost, buy things you didn’t need. It was a great sales plan. Worked ninety percent of the time, I’d say.

“It’s a bit hard to explain,” I replied, looking back at him. “Let me show you.”

With his chiseled jaw and deep-tanned skin and those light eyes, he gave me a full smile, which caused my heart to flutter.

“I’d really appreciate that,” he said.

And I would really appreciate getting to look at you longer.

“It’s no problem,” I replied. I motioned back behind him as I gripped the handle on my shopping cart. “Um, I’ll lead the way once I get this thing out of the narrow space here.”

When he turned to walk in that direction, I was gifted with the view of the best ass I’d ever seen in my life. Levi’s should pay him for wearing those jeans. Seriously, he shouldn’t have to buy clothing. Brands should send him free items to display on thatbody of his. It would sell millions. Women everywhere would buy whatever he had on for the men in their lives.

While his back was to me, I fanned myself quickly with the pack of stickers, then tossed them into the cart before following him. I’d thought my ex had an incredible butt, but even with all Alec’s training, this man had him beat, hands down. Not even a close second.

Alec was a pro athlete. He’d played football in college at Mississippi State, which was where I met him. Then, he was drafted by the New Orleans Saints. It had only taken two months after graduation and him going to Louisiana for us to break up due to other women.

I’d called him one night to congratulate him on a win, only to hear a woman answer his phone—who giggled and then told me he was unavailable at the moment because he was between her legs—and that was the end of things. I cried, ate ice cream, watched sappy movies, but in the end, I had known it was coming. We had grown apart. Alec sent dozens of pink roses, called for weeks, even showed up at my school, which caused massive chaos because of who he was, but I found I didn’t want him back. I had forgiven him, and I was done.

The god in front of me stepped to the side and waited on me to move up beside him. He flashed those gray eyes at me again, and my heart went into a little frenzy. I knew all about men who were prettier than me. I wasn’t even going to entertain myself with that idea again. But looking for a few minutes at the Hobby Lobby I could do. No harm in that.

“My name’s Oz,” he said, holding out his hand. It was a large, strong, masculine one that looked like he knew all about manual labor.

I held my breath as I slid my much smaller one into his, wishing I had taken the time to paint my fingernails this morning. That hot pink I had bought would have looked reallynice about now.

“Winslet,” I replied.

Although when I’d been growing up, everyone had called me Winzy. My brother and Marley still did. I wasn’t telling him that though. It felt childish.

His grip was firm but gentle as he shook my hand, then released it. I fought the urge to smell my hand and see if it held his scent now. He might bolt for the exit if I did. The thought made me want to giggle, but I repressed it.

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