Page 49 of Stay Toxic

“What if he is dangerous, sissy?” she asked. “What if he’s warning you off with a very good reason?”

I looked away, my gaze taking in the coffee shop around me.

Just as my gaze slid past the door, then skidded to a stop and went right back because…

“There he is,” I said softly.

“There who…whoa.” McCoy gasped.

My thoughts exactly.

I’d seen the man in a tux. I’d seen the man in jeans and a Henley. I’d seen the man somewhere in between those two.

But I’d never seen him like this.

He had on running shoes, five-inch inseam running shorts, and nothing else.

He had a fine sheen of sweat over his entire body, and his chest was heaving as he walked in the door toward the counter where his sister was teaching a new employee how to work the coffee machine.

Milena saw him and smiled, reaching for a paper cup and filling it with water.

The employee standing next to Milena, currently frothing some milk, was staring in utter shock at Shasha just like I was.

My gaze went from his shoes—a simple and boring black pair of Brooks—to his muscular thighs that were straining the fabric of his black shorts.

His skin tone was a nice golden tan that made me want to press my lips to each and every inch and explore.

I didn’t care that he was sweaty, either. I was convinced that it would only add to the tastiness of his skin.

“What do you think that tattoo says?” she whispered.

The tattoo on his back, I was assuming.

Words covered one entire shoulder, from his spine to his bicep. It stretched from the top of his trapezius muscle all the way down to where his rib cage stopped.

“I have no idea,” I breathed. “But I want to memorize each freakin’ letter with my lips and tongue.”

“Me, too,” she agreed wistfully. “I changed my mind. He may be bad, but at least for you he’ll be good.”

I swallowed hard when Shasha turned, cup to his mouth, and started heading back outside.

Holy abs.

The man had a lot of them.

And the short glimpse of the Adonis Belt I’d gotten the other day when his shirt had shifted was nothing to seeing it in its full glory.

Jesus Christ, the man was utter perfection.

He had no other tattoos on him other than the words on his back and the full sleeve on one arm.

I was kind of glad that he didn’t because of the way his body looked.

He had not six abs, or eight, but ten.

I could tell he was a big guy based on what he wore, but nothing could’ve prepared me for how tall, muscled, and breathtaking he was.

Holy. Shit.

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