A Mess of a Man (Cruel & Beautiful #2)(6)

The dark-haired, gray-eyed god struts away from me as I ogle his goods. Holy melon I’m a felon! The man with the sexiest voice known to womankind who interrupted my fruitporn could possibly be my total destruction as I stand staring, shell-shocked. He is every bit as panty-melting from behind as he was from the front.

Messy-as-hell hair, scruffy face, and a smile that would stop a nuclear war, and he accused me of molesting the damn fruit! How the hell did he know? But he’s the kind of man who would make me lose my normally in-control-of-everything-Sam-self. What exactly was that all about? And how cliché is this? Meeting in the produce section of the Whole Foods, of all things? And then he asks me out and we exchange numbers. Jesus tomatoes. I just handed out my number to him like a piece of candy. No background check. Nothing. He leaves and I’m left standing here, massaging the melon like it’s one of his balls. And does it ever feel good. Not as velvety smooth as a penis, mind you.

My phone rings shaking me out of my stupor.

“You’re still coming, right?” Lauren asks.

“Um, me, miss a day at the beach? What do you think?”

“Where the hell are you then?”

“I took a small detour,” I say, tossing the melon in my basket. “I’m at Whole Foods grabbing some stuff for munchies. I’m sure your parents don’t want us to eat them out of house and home.”

“Oh, that. You know they always have enough food for an army platoon.”

“Too bad. I’m here anyway.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you in a few then. And whatever you do, don’t bring any towels. Mom says she has so many out here from people leaving them behind she thinks they’re mating and reproducing.”

Heading to the register with my haul, I laugh. “Gotcha. Later.”

Lauren and I have been roommates since our days at Clemson. We went to high school together and everyone swore it would be a mistake to live together and we would end up hating each other. What did they know? Six years later, here we are, still living together and the best of friends. I’m as close to Lauren as I am my own sister.

As I’m walking to the car with my groceries, my phone buzzes again. Checking it, I see it’s my mom. “Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetie. What’re you up to?”

“Headed to the beach. I’m trying to beat the traffic.”

“Well, I won’t keep you. I wanted to see if you made your decision yet.”

Inwardly I groan. This is something I don’t like to think about, but I know she wants me to hurry with this. “Not yet, Mom. I have plenty of time.”

“I know you do. Don’t wait too long, though.”

“I won’t. Gotta go. Love you.”

“Kisses, sweetie.”

It’s the perfect beach day—bright blue sky and not a cloud in sight. My windows are down as the music blares.

When I pull into the driveway of the Mitchell’s beach house, I mentally push my convo with my mom out of my head as I lug all my purchases upstairs, determined to enjoy the gorgeous day.

“Didn’t think you’d ever get here,” Lauren says, grabbing some of my bags to give me a hand.

“Hi Sam.” Mrs. Mitchell hugs me. “What in the world did you bring this time?”

“Just some fresh fruit to make a salad. I’ll get to cutting this up.”

“Can I make you a Bloody Mary or a mimosa?” she asks.

“A Bloody Mary would be great, thanks.”

When she leaves, I say to Lauren, “You wouldn’t believe what happened. I met a god at Whole Foods.”

“What?”

So I explain.

“You say his name is Ben Rhoades?”

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

Lauren gives me her scrunchy-faced look. “Not that I know. Mom? Do you know any Rhoades?”

“Yeah. Martin and Julia Rhoades. Why?” Mrs. Mitchell hands me my drink.

Lauren says, “Oh, yeah. Do they have kids?”

“Yeah, two. Maybe three. I can’t remember because we were never close with them. I think their oldest is in business with Martin. He owns an investment firm, if I recall correctly. Your father would know more about that. Why the interest?”

“Sam met Ben Rhoades this morning at Whole Foods. She says he’s a god.”

Mrs. Mitchell arches her brows and leans in. “Really? Do tell.”

I giggle again and they both look at me like the melon I’m holding is my third eye.

“Holy hot hunks, Mom. She’s smitten. Sam never giggles.”

“I know. It’s a fact. You all should’ve seen it. You know how I am at Whole Foods anyway. I ogle the produce like porn, and then he comes up to me and accuses me of molesting the melons. It’s like he had a direct line into my brain. And I wish I’d had my damn phone out. I would’ve snapped a pic of him. Drool-worthy for sure.”

They’re both eating up my words. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. He had the messy hair thing going from here ‘til Sunday and I wanted to stick my hands in it and mess it up even more. Tall, dark, and desirable. End of story.”

Mrs. Mitchell, whom I adore, nudges Lauren, “Well, no damn wonder she’s giggling.”

Lauren asks, “Eyes?”