Just My Type(19)

“Huh.”

That’s all she says. Huh. And she just stands there in front of me, with her head tipped back, studying my face without any bit of emotion showing.

“So, you don’t have a murder lair. I apologize for my assumptions.” Ember shrugs.

She fucking shrugs. I want to kiss that goddamn feigned look of boredom right off her face.

Someone walking by in the crowded Starbucks bumps into the back of Ember. It sends her tripping forward, smacking right up against me. Her hand flies between us and she quickly grabs a fistful of my T-shirt right over my ribs to hold herself steady. Wrapping one arm around her, I hold her against me as I turn us both to the side to let more people go through.

I’m looking down at her, and she’s still got her head tipped back looking up at me. We’re getting jostled as more and more people try to make their way up to the counter, and I don’t even give a shit. She smells like goddamn pumpkin pie. Like cinnamon and nutmeg and vanilla, and I lick my lips, willing my dick not to poke her in the stomach as I stand here wondering if she’ll taste just as good as she smells.

All of a sudden, Ember jerks away from me, dropping her hold on my shirt and crossing her arms in front of her, looking anywhere but at me.

Sure, she probably doesn’t think you’re going to murder her anymore, but I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate you trying to tickle her belly button with your hard-on, asshole.

“We probably shouldn’t be standing in the middle of an aisle. And it looks like someone took your table.”

Ember nods to the table I vacated when she walked over here, and I glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, two women have taken over, pushing my half-empty coffee cup out of their way.

“I could walk you over to see the gym. It’s just a few blocks from here. We can use the office,” I suggest.

She finally looks up at me again, and I watch her bite down on her full bottom lip, thinking about it for a minute.

She never looked at me with pity. She didn’t thank me for my service. She didn’t gush all over me and call me a hero for what I’m doing.

I’m proud of the work I do and the gym I’ve built; I just don’t like the spotlight, and don’t think I deserve praise for doing something that’s right. For the first time in a long time, I want to show someone what I’ve done and brag about it. I want to impress her.

“Okay. Let’s go to this gym of yours. But I swear to God, if you try and show me how much you can bench press, or I see even a trace of baby oil in your office, I’m out,” she informs me as we both turn and start making our way toward the exit.

“Aren’t you going to google me while we walk? Make sure I am who I say I am and I’m not really a serial killer?” I ask her when we get to the door and I pause to hold it open for her.

“I don’t really think a serial killer would use the word murdery in a sentence.” She laughs softly.

When we’re outside in the sun and away from crowds of people, we’re able to pick up the pace and walk a little faster. My goddamn knee locked up after sitting in there for a half hour before she showed up, and I wince a little as we walk, my slight limp a little more pronounced that normal.

Ember slows down her walking a bit and looks up at me.

“Sorry, I’m a speed walker by nature. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m vertically challenged. I have to walk twice as fast just to keep up with a newborn baby,” Ember explains.

She doesn’t ask why I’m limping. She doesn’t stare at my leg. She apologizes for herself instead of for whatever is wrong with me. Where in the fuck did this woman come from?

“You can ask me about my leg,” I tell her, even though I don’t want to fucking talk about my leg ever, but it doesn’t seem so bad talking about it with her.

“Will I need to carry you?” she asks, her arm brushing against mine as we walk next to each other at a slower pace.

I laugh and shake my head at her.

“No. Shot full of shrapnel, total knee replacement. It bothers me sometimes, but I can carry myself.”

Ember nods before looking away from me to stare out at the water next to where we’re walking.

“Okay, good. I’m small. Lifting you up would literally kill me. As long as your leg won’t kill me, I really don’t give a shit about it. No offense.” She shrugs.

Goddammit, am I screwed. I wonder how long I can drag out these in-person interviews. Like, maybe forever.





CHAPTER 9





Ember

Boner Killer


Is it hot out here, or is it just me?

It’s April, in Chicago. It must be the weather that’s been unseasonably warm. It has absolutely nothing to do with the guy walking next to me with the hot face, and the hot body, and the hot voice, wearing hot-guy cologne.

As soon as our eyes locked back at Starbucks, I knew it was him. I don’t even know how. I just felt it. Which sounds stupid as shit when I say it in my head. But God, the way he was looking at me. Like he recognized me instantly, appreciated what he saw, and would chew off the arm of any man who tried to talk to me.

It was possessive and hot. Something that should have had me running in the opposite direction, considering it was coming from some guy whose last name I didn’t even know, who I met online. I didn’t run away. I walked right toward him like he was a magnet pulling me in.