Page 40 of The Wingman

“What are you doing?”

“Trying it on.”

“Now?”

“I want to make sure it fits.” Satisfaction thumps in my chest when I catch Darcy’s eyes lingering on my taut stomach.

I work hard. My body is my job, and I know what I look like. From the way she’s staring, Darcy does, too.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” I snap my fingers, smirking and pointing at my face. “Eyes up here.”

She jerks her gaze up, her face turning a fucking adorable shade of pink. “Sorry.”

I chuckle, flexing. “It’s fine. Go ahead and ogle me, Andersen.”

“Oh my god.” She turns away as I change positions to show off more muscles. “Stop it, you egomaniac.” An embarrassed laugh slips out of her, and I grin harder.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I flex my biceps, one at a time, and she cackles with laughter. “Are you getting too warm? Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

“Does this actually work on women?”

“I don’t know. I don’t act like this with women. They’d run screaming.”

I never laugh or act goofy like this with the women I go out with. I don’t laugh like this with anyone but her. Darcy makes apleased humming noise, and I relent, pulling the t-shirt over my head.

“What do you think?” I hold my arms out for her approval, and she smiles, nodding as her gaze moves over me, snagging on my chest, shoulders, and waist.

“It fits.” She meets my eyes, lifting her brows in a question. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” I really fucking do. I like her buying me clothes, and I like her wearing my hoodie. I like going out for dinner and sitting on the couch beside her after in the home where we live together.

“One more.” As I take the seat beside her on the couch, the line of her throat works, and she hands me a flat wrapped package about the size of a book.

“Jeez, Andersen, you’re spoiling me.”

She shifts, pulling her knee up beneath her on the couch. Even though we’re not touching, I can feel her body heat. I pull the wrapping paper off, and my heart shoots up into my throat.

It’s a framed photo of us in university. Third year, I think. We’re dressed in green, wearing cheap plastic hats that we got on the St. Patrick’s Day pub crawl. One of my arms is looped around her shoulder, and we’re both holding our dyed green hands up to the camera, smiling ear to ear.

“It’s too sentimental, isn’t it?” She winces. “Sorry. I just love this photo. It’s my favorite.”

The ache in my chest unfolds, taking up more space. “Hey.” I hook my arm around her like in the photo, pulling her against me. Myno touching Darcyrule fades into the background. “Shut up,” I murmur, teasing.

“You don’t have to display it or anything,” she protests.

I press a hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. “Just shut your little mouth, okay?” I say gently to make her laughagain, my skin tingling at the way her smile feels under my palm. “I love it.” I press a quick, firm kiss to her forehead.

Now I don’t feel so weird about my second gift to her. She’s going to say I spent way too much, but this framed photo of Darcy and me is priceless.

Besides, she’s going to hate my first gift, and I can’t wait.

“What are you smiling at?” she asks.

I grin wider. “I can’t wait to give youyourpresent.” I head to my room, slip the small box into my pocket, and then carry the big box back to the living room.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” she says, eyes lighting up with curiosity as I set it on the coffee table. The box is light but big, taking up half the surface of the table. “You already got enough flowers to last a lifetime.”

“Oh, wait until you unwrap it to thank me.” I try not to grin too hard as I flop back down on the couch.

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