And now, I’m sharing a hotel room with him, and I’m sitting across from him at dinner, and this is starting to feel like a damn date.
With the sexiest man I’ve seen in, well,ever.
Holy muscles, Batman.
This man has plenty to bring to the gun show, let me tell you. His biceps bulge against the sleeves of the green Henley he’s wearing. I might spontaneously combust if I try to imagine what they look like in a scrub top.
And don’t even get me started on the sharp jawline, the dark hair, and the brown eyes with flecks of gold.
Did I mention the muscles?
So sue me, I’m attracted to men who work out. Probably because I share that interest. I work out. I eat okay, although I have a massive addiction to sugar, so I workout a little extra, and I’m blessed with a decent metabolism. Those genetics were the only good thing my parents ever gave me.
“Can I get you some dessert?” the server asks as she’s picking up our empty plates.
“Do you have pie?” I ask her. Even I can hear the desperation in my voice.
Not sorry.
“We have apple and pumpkin pie,” she says with a nod.
I bite my lip and catch Blake grinning at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t judge me for loving sugar more than anything on the planet.”
“More thananything?”
I ignore his question and turn to the server, who’s watching us with a grin. “I’ll have apple.”
“And I’ll have the other,” Blake jumps in, and I sigh in relief.
“Thank God. I’ll distract you and steal a bite.”
“No need to distract me.” He laughs.
“You two are adorable together,” the server says before walking away.
I blink rapidly and stare down at my hands.
What are you doing?
No flirting with the sexiest man alive, Harper.
Bad.
Bad girl.
“Harper.”
Why does his voice have to be deep and gravelly and make my nipples pucker?Stand down, nipples.
“Harper.”
“Sorry, I was daydreaming about pie.”