“You have that V.”
He looks at me strange “V?”
“You know the V, the one that starts at your hips and goes . . . down?”
He blushes and easily laughs, the sound rippling through me and settling comfortably in my gut.
“When you have the ‘V’ you never cover the ‘V’. It’s like a rule.”
“What would you like me to do, Addison?” My name sliding out of his mouth in that deep sensual voice may be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, causing my breath to momentarily catch, and my stomach to cinch tightly.
Wetting my lips with my tongue, I look into his eyes. “Take the shirt back off. What you’ve got going on there . . .” I point at his body, my finger moving furiously from head to toe, “should never be covered—if it can be helped.”
His eyes grow wide in amusement, and a smile that sends my pulse into rapid overdrive erupts on his face, making it impossible not to turn my own lips up in an easy grin.
“I’ll try to remember that.” He steps towards me, his eyes dancing with mischief. He slowly reaches behind him and pulls the shirt back over his head, treating me to the jaw dropping sight of his abs.
Content that all is finally right in the world I make small talk. “How was the rest of your weekend?”
He shrugs nonchalantly and sits down to drink his coffee. “Same old thing, a little of this a little of that.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “You are such a guy.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he asks slightly affronted but also trying not to laugh.
“A little of this a little of that? Could you be more vague?”
Shaking his head and kicking his feet up on the table, he gives me a little more insight into his world. “I was in Malibu visiting my family.” Setting his coffee cup down, he turns his dark gaze my way. “What about you, Green Eyes, how did you stay busy this weekend?”
My mind doesn’t come up with the groceries I bought, the marathon of American Ninja Warrior I watched, or the dinner I had with Paige. Nope, it instantly thinks of the dirty fantasies I had of Damian all weekend, naked, sweaty and between my legs. Heat creeps up my neck and into my face.
“That’s an interesting shade of pink you just turned Addison, care to enlighten me as to what’s got you blushing so deep?” His humorous tone makes me shift in my chair.
Sitting straighter I lock eyes with his. “My weekend was about as interesting as yours.”
Belting out a huge laugh, he stands and comes closer in my direction. “I have to go meet Reed, but I’ll be around this week. Stop by and say hi.” Resting his hands on the railing that separates our balconies, he leans over placing his ruggedly handsome face right in front of mine. “I can guarantee it will be more fun than what,” he pauses and dangerously grins, “or who, you were doing this weekend.”
“Addison!” Thomas is shouting down the hallway. Every cell in my body tenses at the sound of his bossy, asshole voice. “Addison! Where is the contract for that family, the one with the two kids at boarding school?”
Walking through my office door, I’m momentarily startled he had the decency to get off his ass and come in here. Thomas Feeley, the divorce attorney who has built his practice up to be the most successful moneymaking law firm in all of Santa Barbara, is standing in my doorway. Five foot nine and balding at the tip of his head, he has the worst case of short man’s complex and loves to make everyone else’s lives miserable.
“On Veronica’s desk.”
“Veronica is at lunch.”
“Exactly where I’m headed, I’ll grab it for you on my way out.”
“Bring me back a sandwich or something. Oh and can you get me a cup of coffee before you leave?”
“I’m not your assistant, Thomas. I passed the Bar.”
His beady little eyes narrow at me. “You’re not a partner, either. Get me the damn coffee.” He’s out of my office before I can call him an asshole to his face instead of his back. If I didn’t need this job, I’d have left years ago. But finally crawling out from the burden of my dad’s mounting debt has left me tied to this miserable position. My only saving grace is the relief I see on my clients’ faces when I win their battles for them, tearing apart the one person they vowed to love forever and getting them whatever custody or assets they believe is owed in their favor.
There’s an old pot of coffee on the counter. Good, I’m happy to deliver him a cup of old morning brew, maybe some of the black grains will fall into his cup as well.
Thomas doesn’t raise his head as I place the Styrofoam on his desk. Fine with me, I’d rather not talk to him anymore either.
Walking to my car, I’m planning to meet Mia for lunch. As I step into the parking lot, I realize something isn’t right. But it’s not until I get closer that I notice what has my instincts on high alert, and I groan in frustration.
There’s bird shit all over my car, and I mean, all the hell over it. It’s like the bird leading the pack had a megaphone and called out one, two, three, go and every sea gull within a ten-mile radius followed suit. How else would a flock of birds decide to shit at the same time? It looks like they declared war all over my front window and down the sides of my car. It’s . . . disgusting and another reason to add to my growing list of why living at the beach isn’t all that.
I know I shouldn’t complain, but—come on.
Looking for a clean area on my door handle, as cautiously as possible I open the door and slide behind the wheel. Turning on my car I pull the windshield wiper towards me, hoping to clean off at least a small portion of the crap so I can get to a gas station and remove the rest.
The wipers move, they squeak, and they move again, but no water comes out as I continue to pump the handle towards me.
Fuck! You have got to be kidding me! I can’t see past all this shit, how am I supposed to drive around like this? I smear it some more with the dry wiper before I decide there’s enough visibility for me to safely drive.
As the car moves forward, something doesn’t feel right. One side of the jeep is higher than the other and a plopping noise echoes inside the car.
What the . . . ?
I press on the brakes and get out. Sure enough, my right rear tire is flat, completely flopping around.
This is not my day.
I should go home, get in bed, and start all over again.
My phone rings as I’m about to call AAA.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Green Eyes.”
“Damian?”
“What’s wrong with your car?”
I flip my head up, scanning the parking lot and wondering how he knows I’ve been shit all over. His 4Runner is parked across the street, his hands in his pockets as he holds the phone between his ear and shoulder. He’s wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, and even from this distance, I can see the bulging muscles in his forearms, my new favorite part of a man’s body.
The shirt is casually un-tucked over his blue jeans. Skin—golden bronze skin peeks out of the top of that shirt, right where his collar and chest meet. Everything about that man screams sex, and I have to pinch my legs closed tight.
Our eyes meet, and he begins to walk in my direction, his hand reaching up and grabbing his phone, his head straightening as he advances towards me. In my mind I run to him, jump in his arms, and kiss him as he saves the day. But this is reality, not a romantic comedy where all the heroine’s dreams come true in one shining moment. My life wasn’t mapped out to be easy, there’s no reason this should be either.
It takes all of thirty seconds for him to be standing directly in front of me.
“Hi.” I hear it from his lips and at the same time, through the speaker on my phone.
“Hi back.”
Taking the phone out of my hand, he ends our call. His lips curl up in that grin, the one that has my heart going pitter-patter. He hasn’t shaved today, but he’s clean. I can smell his laundry detergent and the musky soap he uses all around me. I want to face plant into his chest and breathe in deeply, but that’s not a very sexy move.