Page 8 of A Million Times, Yes
“When you want something, you make the time.”
“Not to keep harping on the dating thing, but time must not be a factor, or you would have fit a woman into your schedule.”
“I’m fitting you in right now.” His arm brushed across mine as we stayed in line with each other. “Aren’t I?”
“This isn’t a date,” I reiterated.
“But I’m answering your question. Time isn’t the problem. Although it’s precious, in a sense, because I don’t have a lot of it. Women are the reason I don’t date. I haven’t found one who’s worthy of my time.”
“Yet you spend an hour each day staring at my ass.”
He laughed.
A sound that was deep.
Guttural.
Sinful.
“I spend that time getting in five miles of cardio. Your ass—and let me tell you, it’s fucking perfect—is motivation to not stop after four.”
“My ass contributes to your stamina.” I laughed. “Now that’s one I’ve never heard before.”
“But have you experienced a man who dominates in that arena?”
We reached another crosswalk, and I jogged in place while waiting for the car to pass. “Have I experienced ... stamina?”
He stood in front of me. Completely still. His eyes doing all the moving despite being locked with mine. They didn’t have to lower because I could feel them inside me. “You don’t have to reply. I already know you haven’t.”
When I drew in a breath, my chest became tight, the rest of my body like Jell-O. “You don’t know anything about me, Jordan.”
“When a woman has had the best sex of her life, you can see it on her face. It’s like looking at a sentence that has either a period or a question mark—the punctuation defines the result.” His eyes gradually dropped. To my waist. Thighs. Calves. And slowly back up, stalling at my stomach, my chest, and finally my face. “When I look at you, I know exactly what I’m seeing.”
I felt naked.
I felt like there was a spotlight shining over me.
I felt more vulnerable than I ever had in my life.
But what I also felt was turned on. In a way where my skin was flickering like the end of a match.
“What else do you see when you look at me?” I stopped while I waited for his response, realizing I hadn’t denied his statement.
The sex I’d had in the past didn’t deservebestin its description. It didn’t deserve an exclamation point as its punctuation. It didn’t deserve praise either.
He took a step closer. He wasn’t in my personal space, but he wasn’t far from the border. “A woman who’s painfully stunning and completely unaware. You don’t use your beauty, Maya. Not like most women. You don’t wear all white to attract my eyes—you wear it because it’s comfortable. Because you like the color. Because it makes you feel good when you’re working out.”
“This is fascinating.”And accurate.“Please, keep going.”
“So if you’re not using your body or your looks, you’re using your heart. You take the soft, delicate approach.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “When it comes to men, you find their weakness and try to fix what’s broken, don’t you? And when they’re healed—if you can even call it that—you hope they’ll be what you pictured in your mind.” He smiled. “But they never are ... are they?”
I was stunned, whispering, “I’m an RN.”
His head tilted back, and he laughed. “And I’m a fucking genius.”
I held my chest, waiting for it to unlock. “All right, genius. Explain why I’m talking to you right now. Because you don’t seem like someone who needs fixing. At least not in the way I’m used to.”
He smiled, and goodness, it was beautiful. “A man who spends over four miles a day staring at your ass, fantasizing about all the ways he wants to get you off, isn’t someone who needs to be mended. What I am is someone who wants to make you fucking scream.”
