Page 56 of The Love Losers

He clears his throat. “You’re welcome.”

“But I don’t think Sweetcheeks is a very regal name, do you?”

Wry amusement fills his eyes. “What would you prefer? Sparklebutt?”

I pinch his thigh, and he grabs my hand, wrapping his much bigger palm around it before releasing me. His touch is a promise I’d like for him to deliver on. “You fight dirty.”

You should see how I fuck, I think but don’t say, so at least my filter isn’t totally broken.

But sex is on my mind right now, with him wrapped around me, every part of him touching me, his breath warm on my neck. Each exhale he makes is felt on my nerve endings.

I’m guessing it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, to be engulfed by Anthony Rosings Smith. To be swallowed up and savored. He’d know how to make a woman feel good.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I say, “You and Jeeves seem to be pals.”

“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. Sweetcheeks is my horse.”

“Really?” I ask, shifting to look at him. It’s too big of a movement, but his arm keeps me from getting unbalanced. He’s so strong, stronger than I thought he’d be. “Do you work out?”

He smiles at me. “I try. It helps with stress from work. Are you hitting on me?”

“I think so. But don’t worry, I won’t suck on your finger just yet. Follow-up question: Did your mother name the horse Sweetcheeks?”

“I did,” he says, his cheek twitching with withheld laughter. “Well, I named his mother, and the name got passed down.”

“You didn’t,” I gasp, thoroughly charmed.

“I was a little kid, in my defense. I didn’t have an extensive vocabulary yet.”

“Was one of the words you knew Illuminati?” I ask. “Blink twice if yes.” His chest quakes against me, as if the laughter is something we’re sharing too.

“Dom got to you, huh?”

“He did. He seemed very concerned, and then he texted me something about a roller rink at three in the morning.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, his thumb tracing patterns on my waist. I’m ridiculously aware of the places where he’s pressed against me. All of them. His—is he hard?

Yes, or getting there.

I’d like to ask. I’d like to reach back and feel…

“It turns out I’m not the only one with a brilliant plan for the Ware building,” Anthony continues.

“Maybe he’s right,” I say, trying to focus. “Maybe there should be a rule that all of the residents have to use roller skates in the central hallway.”

“Sounds like a liability lawsuit waiting to happen.”

I make a face at a grouping of hearty wild flowers up ahead. “Stupid lawyers destroying all of our fun.”

“Be sure to tell my sister that when you meet her,” he says, as if it’s a done deal that I will be meeting her. And I suppose it is, if she’s coming to the wedding. I’ll be there regardless of whether it’smywedding. I won’t abandon him, even if it hurts.

Conversation flows easily between us, and the whole time I feel the promise of him behind me—the awareness of him pulsing through my blood and shaking my bones. It’s so distracting that it seems to take less than a minute for us to finish our circle and reach the stables again, Sweetcheeks’s horn glinting in the sunlight.

God, she’s beautiful.

I want to suck down this moment like it’s a summer drink.

I want to harden it in glass and look at it every morning, first thing, so I can carry it with me throughout my day.

---