Page 8 of Wingwoman
“My manager, Matt, called you earlier today about hiring your services.” He used the shirt to wipe milk off his hand before offering it to me. “I’m Josh Gabriel.”
I tore my eyes away from his bare torso, then my eyes drifted shut for the briefest moment.
I’m such a spaz. Of course.Thiswas the high profile ‘famous’ client I’d gotten a call about.
Snapping my eyes back open, I released the keys back into my purse and took Josh’s hand. “Right. I’m so sorry. Your manager only mentioned he had a high profile client who wanted to meet with me. He didn’t say that it was you,Josh Gabriel, specifically, though.” I fanned my hand out as I said his name, scrolling it above my head like I was reading it from a marquis.
Josh dipped his chin in concession. “Yeah, sorry about that. He’s pretty intent on protecting my identity.”
“He also didn’t mention that you would be coming bytonight. I usually schedule my consultations somewhere public. Like a bar.” Josh and I both bent, crouching to collect my fallen groceries.
Activating every ounce of energy, I tried to not stare at the way his abs flexed with the movement. It was seriously inhuman.
His throat bobbed as he spoke. A single bead of sweat glistening in the setting Texas sun glided a path down the thick column of his neck. “Well, I hope you can understand in my situation, that wouldn’t work so well. Discretion is extremely important and chatting about needing a matchmaker—”
“Wingwoman,” I clarified, taking the can of soup he handed me. “Matchmakers have books of clients and they match their clients only with others who have registered with them. I, on the other hand, not only help my clients find good candidates, but I teach them how to talk to those they’re interested in.”
I paused as we both stood up, each with an armful of my fallen groceries. I canvassed him from head to toe. Taking note of everything from the perfectly tousled hair that fell playfully over his ears to the ripped physique, to his Frye cowboy boots that looked well-worn. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who needs a wingwoman, Mr. Gabriel.”
His lips pulled up into a cocky grin. “Thank you. My situation’s a little… different. And being that I’m recognized just about everywhere I go around here, I hope you can understand I’d rather not have this discussion at a bar.” With a pause and a quick glance around, he added, “Or here on your sidewalk.”
“Of course,” I said, shifting the items in my arms and unlocking the front door. I held it open with my foot, gesturing for him to come into the apartment. I set my groceries down on the counter and motioned to the living room.
Josh followed me inside, his milk-damp shirt draped casually over his shoulder. He set the groceries he carried down on the counter as well.
Despite my dad’s claims that he was planning to Airbnb this place, his stuff was still everywhere. He’d need to do a lot of work before it was ready for short-term rentals.
My heart pounded as I saw my dad’s socks on the couch, carelessly flung on the arm of the sofa. I ran over, and grabbed them in my fist,cringing as I tossed them into his bedroom, then quickly shut the door behind me.
“Why don’t I clean up those eggs on the sidewalk while you put your groceries away,” he said, his southern drawl thick and deep.
I paused, turning to look at him standing there, shirtless in my dad’s kitchen. “You’re going to go outside and clean up fallen eggs… like that?”
He looked down at his shirtless chest. “Well, I no longer have a dry shirt to wear, so unless you have any better ideas…
“The eggs can wait while I toss your shirt in the dryer for you—”
“Don’t worry about my shirt. It’ll be fine until I get home. Now those eggs on the other hand… ”
“I’m sure the eggs will be fine for a little while.”
He raised a dark eyebrow over blue eyes. “In this Texas heat, you’re gonna leave a bunch of raw eggs sizzling on your sidewalk?”
I bit my lip. Shit, he was right. That wasn’t a good idea. Even though the sun was setting, it was still hot as hell out there and would be for a while longer.
Well, if he didn’t care about being shirtless outside, then why should I?
“Oh, alright.” I handed him some towels, a large cup of soapy water, and a plastic bag from my kitchen. Then he disappeared out the front door.
Five minutes later, we both regrouped in the living room and I handed him one of my dad’s T-shirts. Because I could not handle staring at Josh’s shirtless torso for the next thirty minutes.
He glanced at the New York Giants shirt with a quirk to his lips and quickly shook his head. “Oh no, I can’t wear this.”
I took the shirt back from his outstretched hand, momentarily speechless. “Why not?”
“Well to start with, it’s aGiantsshirt. I’ll get my ass kicked stepping foot in Texas wearing that thing.” He stood up, grabbing his still damp shirt, and headed to my kitchen sink. “Does that dryer offer still stand?”
I stood as well. “Yeah, of course.”
