Page 22 of Stalker's Valentine

“I’d love to stay and hang out with you.”

“Really? If it sounds boring––“

“Scarlett, no bullshit, no games, layin’ it out for you, the only thing I wanna do is hang out with you.”

“Really?”

“When I tell you I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, I’m not kidding. I messed up by walking away from you on New Year’s. I knew it the moment I took that first step.”

I heard every word, but somehow, directed at me, they didn’t make sense. Suddenly, it was like a fucking cat got my tongue and I just reacted. I leaned in closer, and it was almost like the movement encouraged him to keep sharing. “I’ve been kicking myself in the ass since.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Then you walked into the brewery a week later, and I won’t lie, I kept my distance for a reason.”

“Onyx?” I guessed.

“Him. Our brothers are friends and business partners. I didn’t want to do anything to make that connection messy. But if I’m honest, it was our age difference.”

“Our age difference? I’m twenty-five,” I shared, confused. I mean, I knew he was older but maybe about by ten years. And it wasn’t like I was a kid; I was an adult.

“And I’m forty.”

“Bullshit.” The word slipped out, and I covered my mouth with one of my hands. He chuckled and pulled it away.

“You calling me a liar, cutie pie?” he asked good-naturedly.

“No. I’m sorry. I just mean, no way.” I laughed, pushing him back just a smidge so I could look at him. My eyes roamed up and down his body and then again. He was like a Greek statue come to life. “There is no way you’re forty!”

“Why?” His lips quirked up.

“Forty-year-olds don’t look like you do.”

“Like I do?” He chuckled, and I felt the vibrations of it beneath the palms of my hands. “I don’t know what other forty-year-olds look like, but I can show you my license to prove it to you.”

“You don’t have to.” I smiled. “Wait, one more question, and just as a heads-up, this might be a deal breaker.”

“Shit,” he cursed with a sly grin. “Okay, lay it on me.”

“Mushrooms on a pizza. Yay or nay?” I asked and waited.

“Yay,” he answered without hesitation. “They’re my favorite.” I leaned in and rested my head against the middle of his chest, breathing in his masculine scent. “Did I pass?” he asked atop of my head. “Can I stay and hang out?”

I pulled away, tipping my head back so I could look at him. I did it smiling. “With flying colors.”

“Good,” he murmured. His fingers stroked my arm and moved into my hair. “I’m glad.” There was something oddly familiar about his touch and the way he played with the ends of my hair.

Almost like I had dreamt it or lived it before. Either way, I couldn’t wait to see what the night had in store!

merritt

. . .

The palmsof my hands rested on top of my thighs while I tried to silently fight every natural instinct inside of me that was begging for me to make a move.

We ordered pizza and turned on a movie. One turned to two, then a third.

It was late, night had darkened the sky outside, but I couldn’t get myself to end the night. All I had been thinking about for the last thirty minutes was a way to suggest a fourth movie.

---