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“I’m sorry if I rubbed you the wrong way.” “You didn’t rub me any way at all,” I said hastily, then instructed my brain to remove all thoughts of rubbing—the right way, of course, because he’d do it the right way. I was sure he’d do everything the absolute, toe-curling, mind-blowing way.
He had the look, all right. The jeans, the loose and sexy tee that hinted at his abs but didn’t reveal too much, the nicely toned arms on display, those eyes like a stormy sky, and that lopsided grin that I wanted to lick and kiss and smack the hell off his too-fine face.
“Can I tell you what I’ve learned, Jess? Since you asked.” “Fine.” “That when you’re pissed, I don’t like it. And I don’t want you to be pissed. Because I like you. I like spending time with you. Because I’m completely attracted to you, I love kissing you, I want to go out with you—that is all real.”
“It’s all real. I think you’re hot and beautiful and sexy and funny and smart, and it drives me absolutely crazy how you try so hard to dislike me.”
