“Wow.” I move right to them, looking at the city below. “This must get them to drop their panties.”
Vaughn chokes. “What?” His eyes are big as he steps up next to me. “What did you just say, Pea?”
“The women you bring home. This view has to be your selling point by the end of the night.”
He laughs. “Paisley, I don’t need a silly window to be my selling point.”
I nod, stepping away from him so I can take a mini tour of his place with my eyes. “Where did you get this?” I ask him, zeroing in on a framed photo on his bookshelf. “This was when we were so young.” There’s a picture of Spencer, Vaughn, and me smiling and laughing.
The interesting thing is Vaughn has his arm around me in the shot. I remember exactly when this was taken. I was sixteen, and he was just turning eighteen. It was right before he and Spencer graduated.
“I got it from my mother’s house.”
“I can’t believe you have it here.”
He takes the frame from me, smiling at the picture. “I love this one.”
“Me too.” I haven’t seen that picture in so long, but seeing the smile on Vaughn’s face when he was younger makes me smile.
It brings back all the feels.
I take in his bachelor pad. Sleek hardwoods, spacious, and yet homey. A black leather couch sits facing a large flat-screen TV. Even the pictures lining the walls are minimal, creating a very modern feel to the place.
“Are you hungry yet?” he asks me, leading me into the kitchen. “I can whip you up something really quick.”
“You can cook?” Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. Lots of people can cook, I just know my brother can’t. So I always kind of expect all men can’t.
“Yes,” he says with a laugh, “I can do a lot of things.”
I suck in a breath at his statement. Because I’m positive he can do a lot of things. “Well, don’t go to any trouble. I’ll eat whatever.” My stomach takes this opportunity to grumble and growl.
He smiles. “Ok, let’s see what I’ve got.” He opens the fridge. “I can make a chicken piccata.”
My mouth waters. “I’d love that.” I hop up onto his kitchen counter as he pulls things out of his fridge. “Only if it’s no trouble.”
When he raises his head, he spies me on his counter and smiles. “I like this.”
“Like what?”
“How easy this is.” He busies himself with cooking, and I excuse myself to the restroom.
Once I shut the door, I lean against the wood of it. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I’m here.” I take another deep breath and release it slowly as I make my way over to the sink.
I stare at myself, trying to pull it together. You got this, Paisley. He doesn’t view you like the sophisticated woman you are.
Just breathe.
When I exit the bathroom, Vaughn stands in the middle of the kitchen, shirt off with the blue lights of the city behind him.
“I didn’t know you’d be out so soon. I spilled something on my shirt.” He scrambles to toss his shirt into a basket in the laundry room next to the kitchen.
I can’t breathe as I stare at the solid muscles of his chest. The six-pack winks back at me, begging me to touch it. Wow. I haven’t seen Vaughn without a shirt on in I can’t even remember how long. His skin appears soft over the hard muscles. I want to lick my tongue over each groove.
I have to look away before I do something silly, like drool.
“I can help you cook,” I say, hoping I can busy myself with work in the kitchen. Give me some vegetables to chop, or something. Anything.
Is it hot in here?
He smiles. “Let’s put you to work.” His eyes smolder as I step closer to him.
I swear I don’t think I’ll be able to handle being this close to him.
Please give me strength.
Twelve
Vaughn
* * *
There’s just something about her. The way she laughs is magical. She practically floats through my condo, touching little things here and smiling at old photos there. No one has ever looked so good, and so at home here before.
Sure, I’ve brought other women home. Plenty. But none of them even hold a candle to the beauty currently in my kitchen waiting to help me cook. I can’t even process it all. And god, my dick is on high alert when she stands too close, the smell of blueberries intoxicating me.
“So, here’s a mallet. And I put the chicken in between two sheets of wax paper and beat it.” I hand her the kitchen tool and get the chicken all set up for her.
She lightly taps the chicken. “Like this?”
I tilt my head. “Well, not exactly. You have to really hit it. Beat it like it owes you money.” I laugh and she does the same.