Page 46 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
It was me. I whistled. And yelled.
It’s not my fault. He makes it all look effortless and sexy, swaying his hips to the beat as he pushes the hem of his t-shirt up, teasing us with a glimpse of his bare abs and chest.
God, he looks good.
He tweaks his nipples and rubs his hands along his abs and chest.
Oh. Wow.
The audience is captivated. Womenandmen are salivating over his body. I’m enthralled. He’s reduced me to a cartoon characterization with bugging eyes and a rapidly thumping heart. I’ve caught the drool running out of my mouth and down my chin at least once.
He traps me with his hypnotic gaze again—Dammit!—and his eyes beckon me forward. My face flushes. I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or desire. My feet move forward, joining the traitorous body parts club that adores Wyatt and the magnetic blue dream-weavers he calls eyes.
I must resist their pull. No way in hell am I dancing with him on that pole, even if the connection between us is undeniable. He knows I’m tempted. His smile is downright cocky as I move toward him. My body remembers what it feels like to be pressed against his.
Freaking awesome, that’s what.
And that was with clothes. If his hips keep doingthatand we’re naked? I have to fan my face at the thought.
He crooks his finger and winks. I shake my head.
The woman next to me raises her hand. “Pick me! Pick me!”
That is so not happening.
Wyatt pulls his t-shirt off.
The lady behind me has a near heart attack. “I love Las Vegas!” she screams.
I don’t blame her. His abs glisten with sweat, and he looks like an exotic dancer. I guess, right now, he is. I can't help but stare, totally captivated. And in my defense, any straight woman would be. He balls his shirt in one hand and throws it at me. I catch it against my face and take a deep breath. It smells like him and all the yummy sexified maleness he embodies. He catches me sniffing it and grins all wolfish-like.
Dammit!
He knows the effect he has on me. I’m not doing anything to hide it. My cheeks burn with a rosy shade of crimson.
Blanche:Maroon.
I close my eyes and try to collect myself before I see him all up close and personal again. The song is winding down, and Wyatt is gearing up for a finale. He grabs the pole and pulls his body up it, hand over hand, before pausing at the top to beat his fists against his chest. Then like it’s been choreographed by Magic Mike, Wyatt expertly spins his way down, leaving the mime’s performance in the dust.
The crowd goes wild, yelling and cheering, their chosen winner is clear.
The mime makes a show of conceding to Wyatt, as he should, then blows me a kiss goodbye and disappears into the fray. It’s a bit anticlimactic to be honest. Especially after he made such a big deal out of loving me and challenging Wyatt to a dance-off. Just to blow me a kiss and go?
If that’s not bad enough, the band launches into a new song as though nothing just happened to alter my life forever. Between the earlier impromptu make-out session and seeing how Wyatt can move his hips, I can’t help but lust after him now. A girl can’t just un-feel those effects, you know?
Blanche:I can’t say un-fall, but you can say un-feel?
Not now, Blanche.
Blanche:No time like the present.
I hand Wyatt his shirt, which he uses to wipe the sweat from his face. He smiles at me, transforming his face from handsome to straight-up sexy, removing any backbone I may have had. After I finish cleaning up the pile of goo he’s turned me into, I smile back.
Blanche:Stop doing that.
Doing what?
Blanche:All of it—smiling, turning to goo, thinking he’s sexy. You’re a sap. Nobody likes a sap.
