Page 7 of Big Dix

He smiles—all confidence and sexual prowess.Holy Sister MF-er. He is hot!I giggle. Like an infatuated idiot, I giggle, then snort.

I gape at Atticus, my face flushing hot, eyes wide. His lopsided grin increases. I sigh. Those lines that bracket the corner of his lips appear, and I want to lick them. Like full on hold his face in my hands and lick.

Get yourself together, Evelyn.

This is absolutely ridiculous and unprofessional, but I just can’t seem to stop myself.

“I’m sorry. Did you just snort?”

A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I sound like the embarrassed lunatic I am, then abruptly stop.

“No,” I say, dead serious even though we both know I’m a liar.

He smiles, shakes his head, and continues to finger my cups. The Caprese phyllo cups, that is. I thought I might need to clarify that.

“What’s your name?”

“Evelyn. My friends call me Ev.”

His eyes twinkle. Seriously, how is one man this good-looking? “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. I’m Atticus.”

Yes, you are Atticus Dixon. Superstar of my wet dreams. Owner of one colossal penis that I’d die to ride like a show pony.

“Nice to meet you. Truly, thank you for your help, but I’ve got this. Go on and enjoy the party.”

Please stay.

I don’t want him to go, but really, I’m wearing cranberry sauce; I’m picking up food I threw all over the floor. I’m hornier than a chick dressed up as a unicorn and rolling on molly at Burning Man. This isn’t the first impression I was hoping to make.

“I’m happy to help. Besides, my momma would whoop my ass if I didn’t help you clean this up.”

Oh, he loves his momma. How sweet. Also, “Is she here?” I kind of want to see him get spanked.

“My mom? No, she is definitely not here.” His baritone chuckle goes straight to my lady bits. It’s like a caress in my most intimate places.

He smells so good, like a woodsy, fresh spring rain. I guess that’s what it smells like. I don’t do the nature—sidewalks and asphalt for this city girl, please and thank you. And I need another whiff. I inhale discreetly. Maybe not as discreetly as I’d hoped. We are about half a foot from one another, and as soon as I inhale, his eyes shoot to mine.

I hold my breath and smile, unsure of what to do next. So, of course, I begin to sniff. “Do you smell that?”

Oh great. Now he will think I farted. Why didn’t I just ask him to pull my damn finger?

He laughs again because I’m so charming. “No. I don’t think I smell anything.”

He’s smiling. It’s so beautiful.

I sniff again because, if nothing else, I’m dedicated to this shit. I’m on a damn roll. Why stop now? “I think I smell smoke. I better go to the kitchen and check that out. Thank you for your help, but I’ll have someone from my staff finish cleaning this up.”

He rises to his feet at the same time I do, and I have to crane my head back to keep eye contact with him. My five-foot-nothing compared to his six-foot-four makes me seem even shorter than I really am. Not to mention I’m wearing tennis shoes that look like they came from myabuela’s closet, so I am especially shrimpy today.

Okay, four feet ten inches, but who’s counting?And shit, are these my abuela’s shoes?

“Nice to meet you, Evelyn.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

If only he knew there’s a picture of him in the buff on my phone, maybe I wouldn’t be the only one embarrassed.

SIX

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