Page 59 of The Playboy

“Good afternoon,” I replied.

I wouldn’t ignore her. I was an asshole, but I wasn’t fucking rude.

“I have to know … what are you wearing? You smell positively delicious.”

Another quick look showed she met my typical criteria. Fit body. Dark brown hair. Lips large enough to drag every thought to my cock—or would have prior to Brooklyn.

Sex in a bottle, was the answer I normally gave when I was asked that question. I had multiple bottles that I rotated constantly; I usually couldn’t remember which one I’d squirted on. Whenever I described my cologne that way, if she wasn’t already turned on, she would be.

Hearingsexcome out of my mouth was an immediate aphrodisiac.

But that wasn’t the answer waiting on my tongue tonight. “One of the designers. I don’t recall which one.”

“Well, don’t ever wear anything else.” Her eyes swept the whole length of me. “This one issoooperfect for you.”

“I appreciate that.” I faced the bartender, shaking my glass in the air, letting him know it was time for a refill, and I downed what was left.

“Are you here on vacation?”

“Business,” I replied. “All work, no pleasure for me.”

“That’s too bad.”

A peek showed she was gazing at me with a stare I knew all too well. One that told me the only things separating us were clothes, and she was fucking dying to strip them off.

I grabbed the glass the bartender had just placed down and continued, “My last drink before I get on the plane in”—I checked my watch, but didn’t pay attention to the time—“less than two hours.”

A lie. But a necessary one.

Except I noticed it did no good. The look hadn’t left her face.

It only intensified.

“I bet I can change the pleasure part.” She reached across the space and set her hand on my arm. “You have about thirty minutes before you have to go to the airport. I know just how we should spend it.”

We.

There was nothing hotter than a woman knowing what she wanted and going after it; therefore, I couldn’t knock her for trying.

That target just wasn’t going to be me.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the screen. It was full of notifications. What I wished for was that it were ringing so I could busy myself with a call. Since it wasn’t, I’d have to make one happen on my own.

I hit the screen several times and held it against the side of my face. That was when I looked at her and said, “I’m going to spend it talking to my wife.”

Wife.

Fuck.

A word I’d never thought I’d ever use, but when it came to Brooklyn, it’d so easily slipped from my mouth.

I stood from the stool, and when I got the bartender’s attention, I let him know I wanted the bill charged to my room.

“Have yourself a good day,” I said to her before I carried the scotch to the back of the hotel, where I took a seat on a plastic chaise lounge by the pool.

I wanted Brooklyn to be the one who picked up when the line connected. But that was impossible because it was Camden’s number I’d called instead.

“What’s going on?” my best friend asked.

---