The Hot One(37)

Gigi explains. “We had many conversations on the massage table about anything and everything, from life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, to levels of attractiveness, ranging from bow tie-wearing dogs to ridiculously good-looking men.”

“I.e., fuckhot men,” Delaney adds.

“Glad I received that ruling rather than the bow tie one,” I say, because I am 100 percent clear on this point and 100 percent A-OK to be talked about like a piece of meat.

Gigi holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Tyler.”

I shake hands with her. “You too, Gigi.”

She jogs in place for a few seconds before she takes off along the path. She calls back, “See you with your wig on.”

After she disappears, Delaney points her thumb in the direction of the flamboyant woman. “Does that answer your question about my change of heart in careers?”

I nod, instantly getting it. “Yep. I can see. You really can touch people’s lives.”

“Not all my clients have battled medical issues. But for those that do, I’m glad I’m able to give them a little relief, a little peace from what hurts. I’m not a doctor or a nurse, but in my own small way I like to think I can make a difference for some. That’s why I switched to massage.”

“I’d say you’re making a big difference. She called you a miracle worker.”

Delaney beams, and I love that the simplest of compliments lights her up, so I keep going. “You can make someone feel truly better. That’s not just a gift. It’s a skill and a talent. I always thought you’d be a fantastic attorney because you’re damn good at reasoning, making a point, and arguing a position, but judging from your clients’ reactions, and from the wonders you worked on my neck, you chose the right field.”

I’m not just saying that because a kernel of guilt has lodged inside my brain, making me think I’m responsible for destroying her dreams. I’m saying it because it’s so apparent she’s happy in her work today.

“Thank you. And hey, can’t beat the attire at the spa. Yoga pants all the way. I was never particularly fond of suits, and I don’t think I look good in them.”

“Wrong on that one. I bet you look fuckhot in them.”

“I bet you’d like to see me in one.”

“Or out of one.”

And there goes my focus again.

My eyes roam over her, and though she is sexy as sin in her little running shorts and T-shirt, the woman would also look extraordinary in a tight skirt, form-fitting blouse, and fuck-me pumps. Wait. Let’s add sexy glasses that rest on the bridge of her nose, and a shelf full of books behind her. She can perch on the edge of her desk, and I can rip off the blouse, buttons spilling all over the floor, then hike up that skirt, and wrap her legs around my waist.

“You okay?”

I blink, realizing she’s staring at me, and I wonder how long I’ve been in dirty dreamland.

“What?”

“You drifted off.”

“Go figure. I was picturing you wearing four-inch heels, and my thoughts went haywire.”

“You’ve turned into quite a shoe man, haven’t you?”

I groan. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“What is it?”

I rake my gaze over her tight, trim frame, then linger on her . . . white sneakers. “Your sneakers are turning me on,” I say in a salacious tone.

She raises her right leg then strokes her calf down to her foot. “Does this get you going?”

This time, I growl, and huff like a bull. “Oh yeah, baby.”

She rubs the side of her sneakered foot against my leg, and yep, it gets me revved up. Maybe I’m that easy when it comes to her. Or it could be that I fucking love when she’s like this—this playful, this fun, this fucking cool enough to go with the moment.

“Do it again,” I command her, and she grabs hold of my arm for balance, sliding her foot higher up my leg.

“More? You want more?” she asks, egging me on.

“So much more.”

She cracks up and sets her foot back on the ground. “Glad to know my big feet turn you on.”

“Your big feet and the person they’re attached to,” I say, correcting her.

“Thanks for the clarification,” she says, and puts one big foot in front of the other, starting us running again.

“So,” I begin. “A wig party.”

“Should be fun.”

“Need help shopping for one?” I ask, because I’m really hoping she’ll invite me.

“I’ll probably go shopping with the girls. But thanks for the offer.”

I’m not going down without a fight. And I’m not going to dance around what I want. Her.

Even if I screwed her over years ago, I have a new chance. Back then I was so singularly focused on my own selfish goals that it didn’t occur to me I could seriously derail hers with my all-or-nothing approach to that illuminating last debate.

Although she had a change of heart, I played a part in it.

But that’s the past. I can’t change it. I can, however, let her know that I’m a different man in the present.

This lovely, sassy, strong, sexy woman. I’ve got to make her mine again.

Time to let her know it is on.