I love the honesty in her admission. I hate that she’s right.
“Me too,” I say.
She orders a ride. I wait with her on the corner, hands in my pockets. Then…what the hell. The night is ending. “I wish I were taking you home,” I say softly, moving a few inches closer.
“Me too,” she says, sounding as wrapped up in longing as I am.
“I want that more now than I did this afternoon,” I add.
Her breath hitches. Even though I want to lift my hand, reach for her face, and cup her cheek, I don’t.
I’m about to let her go when she meets my gaze, heat flickering in her eyes. “By the way, I would have said yes to spanking.”
I groan. She’s too sexy. “I would have smacked you exactly the way you wanted it.”
“I know.”
A fire ignites in my chest, filling me with lust and desire all from those two words.I know.
But this kind of talk isn’t part of the game plan anymore.
The Nissan we’re waiting for arrives, and I reach for the door handle. But before I open it, I grab my phone. Then I enter her number once more—this time under her full name. Brooke Holland, The One and Only. Then I send her a note.Had the best time with you tonight.
She smiles as she reads it, then replies withMe too.
I put her in the car and watch her go.
Like a good guy.
10
A VIBE THING
Drew
The sun warms my shoulders. The ocean breeze cools my skin. And the goateed barber slides a sharp blade across my jaw. All the barbers here at Armando’s are dressed to the nines in white button-downs, ties, and proper slacks, looking dapper as swing music plays. It’s so retro it’s cool.
Once I’m done, I’ll have to text Brooke a pic. Bet she’d get a kick out of this whole pop-up beachside barber shop here in Venice.
Carter was right. The beachside shave is downright luxurious.
I might start to hum any second.
But I’mnotgoing to come. “You getting close, buddy?” I ask Carter in the chair next to mine.
“So close,” he grunts like he’s holding back his personal satisfaction.
“Behave,” I warn.
He laughs a little too big.
“Try to keep still,” his barber tells him, a stern fellow with earplugs and a leather apron.
“Like I said, behave,” I stage whisper as the owner himself, a goateed guy with steady hands, slides the blade across my jaw one last time then wipes it on a hand towel.
“Smoothest shave ever,” he says. “What do you think?”
I pat my cheek. “You’re the da Vinci of barbers, my man.”