Reluctantly Yours(106)
From somewhere in front of me someone clears their throat, cutting through Alec’s ramblings.
Caught off guard, my phone slips out of my hand and I lunge forward in an attempt to catch it. With my body no longer being used as a door stop, the metal door slams closed behind me. The ominous sound of an automatic lock clicking into place doesn’t stop me from checking the handle anyway. Yup, locked. Oh shit. The waitress said not to close the door. But, then I remember the throat clearing and my attention is drawn behind me. A man has stepped from the dark corners of the rooftop toward the door where the single overhead bulb illuminates him just enough to display his large frame.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He reaches out a hand. My brain isn’t receiving messages as to what for because it’s too distracted by the cords of muscle that make up this man’s forearm. The light brown hair and the prominent vein that runs the length of said arm are the ultimate accessories to his God-like forearms. It’s a body part that shouldn’t make me flustered, but I’ve never seen forearms like his before. Surely this is some illusion, a trick of light or a flex pose made possible by the weight of my phone, a mere five ounces. That’s the reason he’s got his arm outstretched. “The message you were playing sounded private. I wanted you to know you weren’t alone.”
“Oh. Right.” Finally, I accept my phone, hoping that the cringe I feel internally knowing a stranger just heard my boyfriend break up with me over a voicemail isn’t apparent on my face. Speaking of faces…this guy has one.
How have I not even looked at his face? Oh, that’s right, I was too busy drooling over the forearm porn he was providing me with. My eyes roam up his body. And in case anyone’s wondering, he’s no Popeye. His forearms are perfectly proportionate to the rest of his muscular frame. He definitely works out. Maybe even plays a sport. Back to his face. It’s good. Better than good. Square jaw, defined nose, enough scruff on his chin to tell the world he’s got plenty of testosterone pumping through his veins. Thick, sandy brown hair that’s long enough to have a slight wave in it. I can’t tell what color his eyes are in the dim light, but when he smiles, they fill with humor and a dimple appears in his left cheek.
I know that because he’s smiling at me right now.
“It’s my birthday.” I announce out of nowhere. He’s probably thrilled that he’s stuck out here with an excellent conversationalist like myself.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” The goofy smile that forms on my face is surprising. Why is this guy making me feel giddy?
I realize that I’m a little too excited about being trapped on a rooftop with a stranger. A man with muscles like that could easily overpower me, yet there’s nothing about this man’s demeanor that makes me feel that way. In fact, it’s the opposite. The way he stands with his hands buried in his front pockets, casual and sweet. I’d expect a guy that looks like him to be cocky and self-possessed. My eyes drop to his crotch, then quickly away. Why did I just do that? I was thinking about being cocky and that made me think of…my eyes lower again to the bulge in his jeans. The alcohol running through my veins apparently gives them free reign to ogle men’s crotches.
“Did I just lock us out here?” I motion to the shut door behind me.
“Nah. I’ve got a key.”
“Oh.” I nod. That should be a relief, yet I’m suddenly disappointed that we aren’t locked out here together. That this isn’t some fated romantic encounter destined for me on my birthday.
“So, we won’t need to lay in each other’s arms to stay warm when the desert temps fall later tonight?”
When I realize what I just said, my cheeks burn with embarrassment, or maybe that’s the champagne warming my skin. The champagne has gone to my head. And this guy’s sexy smile has gone straight to my lady parts.
“Or use our phones to call someone to open the door?” I can hear the teasing in his voice.
“Yeah, that either.” Should I start plotting how I’m going to capture his phone and throw it off the side of the building?
I walk further out onto the roof, taking in the lights from the strip all around us.
“I’m Emma.”
“Griffin.” He’s watching me carefully.
“You okay?” His kind eyes search mine. It’s the strangest feeling. The sudden urge to tell this man everything that has happened tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s loneliness. A feeling that has wrapped its way around my heart long before Alec left his voicemail tonight. I can’t explain it, but I force myself to keep quiet. The last thing this guy wants is to hear about my problems. He’s in Vegas, and like most people, probably out looking for a good time.
“Oh, yeah. I’m not going to throw myself off the roof or anything.”
“Glad to hear.”
“I just needed some air.”
“Me, too.” He takes a few steps forward until he’s in line with me. I can feel his gaze on the side of my face.
“The message you heard me playing. That was the voicemail my boy—ex-boyfriend left me earlier tonight. He was supposed to fly here from New York to come watch my fashion show.”
“Are you a model?” Griffin looks me up and down, probably wondering how a shorty like me would be walking a runway. The five-inch heels I’d need to meet the standard height requirement would cause me to break both my ankles. It’s a question I get asked a lot, with my mom being tall, but my dad is shorter and I got his side of the family’s genes.