A Mess of a Man (Cruel & Beautiful #2)(5)

I pull her mouth away and tuck myself back in my pants. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not working.” Before she can balk and spew curses at me that will draw everyone’s attention, I add, “I think I’m too drunk to get it up.”

It isn’t exactly true, but no reason to cause bad blood.

“Maybe next time,” she says with a wink.

I nod. She gives me her phone number, and I take the trouble to program it in my phone, more of the illusion that it’s me and not her, which is mostly true. We leave the restroom and I join my friends. I say nothing when they stare at me; I don’t have anything to prove to these guys. The night that should have been fun is turning out to be a bust. I eventually cab it home when I finally hit that sweet spot on the drunk scale, and I don’t want to wrap my car around a tree.

Somehow I make it to bed, still dressed, which is where I find myself in the morning. A bottle of water and a cup of coffee later, I cab it back to pick up my car. My stomach growls and I pull into the first store I see. It’s not where I normally go, but it’s right there. I need to get a couple of things, like bread, milk, eggs, bacon and cereal, for the lazyass hangover breakfast of champions which is a hodgepodge of everything and anything.

I step inside the unfamiliar store and gaze around to determine which direction I should head first to fulfill the small list of items.

That’s when I spot her. My dick stiffens and points in her direction like a divining rod. I’m not sure what to make of it. This has never happened, especially considering I can only see her mostly from behind. I do get a view of side boob and her rack is impressive from that angle. I step forward because her lower half is hidden by the display stand in the produce section.

Then I see it. Miles of long, smooth, tanned legs. She looks like she might be headed out to the beach because she wears a loose white tank top with a bright blue bra or bikini top that peeks out from the side where the tank top hangs open. Her tan extends up and under a pair of frayed at the edges shorts that don’t have to be tight to make my pulse race.

Blood leeches from my brain and I can barely think. I haven’t even seen her face and I could chisel a stone statue with my dick. Her hand lands on a round melon and she turns enough to give me a profile view. Damn if she isn’t the full package. Her face is as pretty as the rest of her. Strands of golden blond hair mixed with honey brown are pulled into some messy knot at the base of her neck. I find myself tethered to her like a dog on a leash. Unconsciously, I begin walking towards her.

When I get the full view, she isn’t as exotically stunning as the woman in the club last night, yet I find myself way more attracted to the one in front of me.

Her hand is still on the melons and she’s squeezing them, or so it appears.

“Excuse me,” I say.

Startled hazel eyes flecked with gold meet mine as a smile grows on her lips. “Yes?”

Her voice is like a hand stroking my dick and I have to have her in my bed tonight.

“I’m going to have to write you up for molesting the fruit. It’s unseemly with kids in the vicinity. I’ll need your name.”

This is where she can shut me down because she thinks I’m corny as hell or she’ll give me a shot by telling me her name.

“Hmm,” she says taking her hand off the melon in feigned shock. “I could give you a fake name.”

“You could or I could ask for ID.”

She giggles and that mouth. It takes the strength of ten men to keep my eyes leveled on hers and not take in her extraordinary chest. I wait a few seconds before she says, “I’m Samantha Calhoun, but my friends call me Sam.”

She holds out her hand. I take it and lift it to my lips. “Nice to meet you, Samantha. I’m Ben Rhoades.”

“Ben? Is that short for Benjamin?”

“Ah,” I say reluctantly letting go of her hand. “That’s a long story. One you can only hear if you agree to go out to dinner with me.”

She raises her brows. “Is that so?”

I shrug.

“Okay, I think I want to hear this long story.”

“Tonight?” I ask because I want her in my bed so badly, I’m almost ready to beg. And isn’t that some shit? If not for my jeans, my dick would have popped out and told her himself.

“I can’t. I have plans.”

Of course she does. I remember it’s Saturday. I probably look like a total loser for suggesting it. “Monday?”

“Monday?” she repeats.

“Yes, I have a thing tomorrow, and who has plans on a Monday?”

She smiles. “Monday’s good.”

She pulls out her phone and I have déjà vu for a second remembering last night with the exotic beauty in the private bathroom. We exchange phone numbers and I promise to call her with the details.

“Great,” she says and her smile is beautiful.

I turn up the wattage on mine, then leave her after I say, “I should report you to the Produce Manager, but consider it a warning this time.”

She giggles again and I know I’m in. I head towards the dairy department and I don’t look back. I don’t chase women. Never have and I won’t start now. If this doesn’t work out between us, there are plenty of other women in the world to satisfy my needs.





I look again at the melon I’m still caressing. Oh, the aroma. Control yourself, Sam. It’s a f*cking melon. Not a penis, for Pete’s sake!