The words ‘City Morgue’ are in bold black letters, almost making the place look like a prop from a B-grade crime drama.
But there’s no second guessing where we are, and I half wonder if rideshare extends to the dead as well as the living.
I hope not.
The sound of the trunk closing makes me jump. And the door opposite me swings open.
The whole car sinks a little once the next passenger gets in.
I’m almost afraid to look, but the scent filling the car sees me needing to turn. To see.
To convince myself that there actually could be anyone who smells so good. Especially in this heat.
Our eyes lock. And in an instant I know I’m in the presence of something…someonewho is more than just out of the ordinary.
And in the best possible way.
Without having to focus on the rest of his body, I can see at a glance he’s well dressed.
Business casual.
The male version of the look I tried for today, but this guy just crushes it.
He has the chiseled good looks that make the regular ‘beautiful’ people like Vanessa look like cardboard cutouts.
Here’s a real man. Mature. I’m guessing forty. But it’s impossible to say.
The hints of silver in his dark, close cut hair the only real sign.
Something I thought only existed in movies. Or in the pages of those books, some girls use to give their rabbit vibrator or the shower head a face while they scratch that itch.
And this guy’s oozing what gives girls that itch right now. Like he’s made from it.
It feels like meeting a celebrity or catching the ball a tennis star smashes into the crowd after winning a grand slam.
I’ve done neither of those, but this must be what it feels like.
Like… I dunno… Like winning the lottery or something.
Those dark, shining eyes of his aren’t fixed on my chest, or anywhere else either.
Just burning into me. All of me.
It feels like someone’s actually looking at me for the first time ever.
The real me, I mean… It’s hard to explain.
But if the fireworks in my chest as well as the rising, foaming rapids I can feel between my legs are anything to go by.
I’m either in the right place at the morgue, having somehow just died and gone to heaven. Or is this guy really an angel?
But why would someone as perfect as him even give me a second glance?
And why do I feel like I’d do anything he told me too, even though I should be mad at him for making me late?
Despite my instant and insane attraction to the man, I hear my voice sounding brattier than a grown adult.
“Why don’t ya take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I snap at him. The edge in my voice courtesy of the day I was having until Mr. Perfect here literally walked into my life.