Page 32 of Insta-Love

“Why not?”

“A guy like you doesn’t put all that”—she waves a hand at my body—“to good use?”

“Good use?” She pales. “Do elaborate, Ava.”

“You know what I mean,” she grumbles.

“I want to hear you say it.” Also want to see her squirm a little more with that flush in her cheeks.

Oh yeah. I know what’s going on down in those sensible shorts of hers.

Her lips flatten into a thin line as she seemingly gathers her courage. “All I’m saying, is if I was some ripped Adonis with a line of thirsty women after me, it’d be pretty damn easy to make the most of my virile youth.” Her lips curl up on one side as she wiggles her pinkie finger. “Unless, of course, you’re telling me the rumours about bodybuilders and things having an effect on the little guy are true?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t use steroids.” I lean forward, enjoying this sexual banter. “Why don’t you tell me if the rumours about single mothers being up for it anytime they can get it are true?”

“Pig.”

“See?” I cock an eyebrow. “Stereotypes hurt, huh?”

Her deep green eyes hold my own, her body shifting ever so slightly as she leans on the table also.

“Tell me, Ava.”

She cocks her head as though to ask, “What?”

“Would you be up for it with me?”

She swallows, eyes still locked on mine, and rolls her lips before answering. “You ask me to move in and then you proposition me.” Her head bobs gently. “Says a lot about you, doesn’t it, Bowen?”

“Says a lot about what I think of you, yeah.”

“And what’s that? Not much?”

I lean a little closer. “A lot, actually.”

Her breath ghosts my face; her gaze falling to my mouth as I lean in just the tiniest bit more.

I’ve so got this.

Her chair scrapes across the tiles loudly, her arse out of the seat before I can blink.

I don’t have this.

“I think I should go home.”

“You could be home.” I match her, pushing out from the table and crowding her against the end of the kitchen counter.

She takes two steps sideways, a blush colouring her neck as well as her cheeks. “Bowen. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” One hand to the wall beside her head and she stops dead—a startled bunny.

“Be an insensitive arsehole.”

I jerk back from the wall as though the fucking thing shocked me. “What?”

Her nostrils flare, her gaze on the goddamn grout at my feet as she frowns through her answer. “You’re bullying me into doing something I haven’t fully thought through.”

“You didn’t say you didn’t want to, though.” I hold on to that little thread of hope. Maybe I didn’t completely fuck things up—yet.

---