I sit up, startled by the deserted beach. It’s six in the evening, our coffees long gone, cups discarded by Theo when he told me he hates coming back from work to an empty condo and is pondering the idea of buying a dog.
Since then, we’ve touched on so many subjects I feel like I’ve known him for a long time. And I feel like no more than two hours have passed since I stumbled into his office.
“Thank you, but I should head back to the motel.” I rise to my feet, brushing sand off my clothes. “I’m sorry I stole your afternoon. Actually... no, I’m not sorry. This was nice.”
“I’ll sling you over my shoulder and carry you inside the restaurant if I have to. I’m not kidding.” He gestures toward the street, urging me to start walking. “I’ll drive you back to the motel after dinner.”
He shouldn’t have said that.
My mind is a vivid and colorful space. The scene he described isn’t hard to imagine or spice up. I picture him doing just as he said—slinging me over his shoulder, carrying me to bed where I can scream his name. There’s no doubt in my mind Theo Hayes knows exactly how to make a woman scream.
Not for the first time in his presence, I clench my thighs together to get some semblance of friction and inhale an inconspicuous breath. A ride sounds better than a four-mile trek to the motel, and now that we’re almost at the restaurant door, the aromatic scent of garlic bread and freshly cooked seafood sifting through the air reminds me just how hungry I am.
“Fine, but this time,mytreat,” I push the door open, not letting him get a word in, but he catches up with me inside. He grips my upper arm, yanking me to his chest. My cheek brushes against his shirt, and I see stars.
This is laughable!Get a grip, girl!
“Emasculating,” he says quietly. Amusement laces with a heavy, loaded note in his tone. “Remember the definition,omorfiá? It’s not your treat. It’ll never be your treat.”
“O Theé mou[5].”
“I like it when you speak Greek.” His hand connects with my back, guiding me toward a table in the middle of the restaurant. “What did you say?”
“You’ll have to learn Greek if you want to know what I mumble to myself. I do that a lot.”
“I’m in luck,” he breathes into the shell of my ear. “I know just the girl who’ll give me a few lessons.”
SEVEN
Theo
TO AN EYE OF A PASSIVE OBSERVER, Thalia and I might be mistaken for a couple on a date. We’re not, but even if, I wouldn’t regret almost forcing her to eat with me.
We left my office a few minutes past one in the afternoon and spentfivehours talking. Five fucking hours. Time flies when you’re having fun. And boy, am I. She’s easy to talk to, witty, intelligent, and curious.
And hot...
So hot. Curvy, with plenty of flesh to grab. Busty, with wide hips and a visible waist. The definition of hourglass, she can’t be classed as fat nor skinny—healthy,is what my grandma would say. Fuckingperfectis my definition.
We have more in common than I expected, but her positivity is the most impressive character trait I’ve uncovered so far. She radiates cheerfulness like a glow-in-the-dark stick. She hardly ever stops smiling. Her eyes sparkle with genuine glee, even though she’s alone in a foreign country, took on a second job, and lives in a motel. She’s grateful for the opportunity to start from scratch, from the very bottom, ready and willing to work her way up.
“What type of a dog do you want?” she asks in that colorful Greek accent I can’t get over, her eyes dancing, alive, bright and fucking beautiful.
Honestly, I can’tget over how beautiful she is. It tears me a new one every time I glimpse her face, and looking away takes more effort than anything ever should. My poker face, though, is unrivaled, intact at all times.
She studies the menu in deep concentration, toying with a lock of hair. The gesture has annoyed the hell out of me since I can remember, but Thalia doesn’t pair it with seductive stares and smiles. She pairs it with a frown...
Instead of irritating, it’s sexy as hell.
I’m pretty sure if I let her choose, she’ll pick the smallest, cheapest dish on the menu, so when the waiter comes back, I order shrimp for starters, two lobsters for mains, and a bottle of wine, shushing Thalia when she tries to cut in.
“I was thinking about a German Shepherd, but I won’t brush his coat, and he’ll probably end up looking homeless within a month.”
“No, a German Shepherd won’t suit you. You need a manlier dog... a pit bull or a Doberman.”
“A pit bull? Seriously? I’d get a Yorkie before a pit bull, Thalia. I’d probably dress it in a pink coat and walk it down the pier long before I’d look at a pit bull.”
The waiter brings a bottle of red wine, filling our glasses while Thalia laughs, the sound melodic and light, her whole face glowing. She must imagine me with a pocket-sized Yorkie puppy strolling down the main street.