Ladies Man (Manwhore #4)(24)

“It’s my life’s purpose, no matter what you say!” I yell out with my hands on the sides of my mouth so that my voice carries to him as he walks away.

Later that night, I go in search of Trent. I’m worried about his stolen delivery truck, but aren’t all holidays a playground for thieves? I’m winding through the crowd when I spot Tahoe heading back toward the group with his date’s drink.

Our paths inevitably cross and our eyes latch when we try to pass each other. I go left and as we move accidentally in the same direction, we laugh.

He stops smiling, opening his mouth to say something, but what he’s saying is suddenly drowned out by the chorus of the crowd.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”

Claps and cheers erupt. I shake myself from my laughter and Tahoe trails off from whatever it is he was starting to tell me.

“I’m wasted,” I hear myself say. “Wait, is it twelve?! OMG, it’s twelve.”

Tahoe looks at the drink in his hand with a wry smile, tosses half back, and then extends it to me. I take it and toss the rest back, then set it on the nearest table.

We look at each other with the realization that we are going to kiss each other this New Year’s Eve.

The thought makes me nervous and excited and anticipatory—more than I ever would have expected. As people kiss left and right, time feels slow in the space where we stand. Flashes of color and movement appear in the corner of my eye but he is the only clear thing, the sounds muting until I only hear my heart as we both gravitate to one another and get closer.

I grip his hair and I do not want to let him go, ever. His hands open on my back and they’re so big they cover nearly all of it.

“Happy New Year,” he says.

He gives me a peck on the lips as a friendly New Year’s kiss. He eases back an inch and returns to give me another.

As his lips press onto mine, my toes curl unexpectedly. My mind spins in a thousand directions. I replay things Rachel has said about him, which I have mulled over consistently in private.

That he called me succulent.

That he’s a lacrosse fan and would have gone pro if he hadn’t literally struck oil, big time, becoming a multimillionaire overnight—a billionaire within years.

That Saint respects him and has invested in helping him through the volatility of this market because he believes in Tahoe’s business sense.

The three friends’ public personas aren’t necessarily true. But what is true for Tahoe Roth? He is the embodiment of sex. He also has a gentleman ingrained in his bones due to his southern upbringing. You can tell a lot about a person by how well they treat others, and he is playful but honest, and always himself.

You can tell a lot about a man by how he kisses, and nobody has ever sparked me up the way his strong, firm lips do.

We ease back and stare at each other.

Tonight Tahoe is in jeans and a soft white V-neck sweater, and he looks delicious. His blue eyes are so achingly familiar on me they’re like a shot to the heart…as he reaches out and takes my hand, and kisses the back of it.

He doesn’t smirk, he doesn’t smile, he just kisses the back of my hand, all while looking into my eyes, his gaze possessive and raw.

“Happy New Year, babe!” Trent cries, pulling me to him. His mouth covers mine, and by the time I’m able to peel away, I glance frantically around the room.

At midnight, I was with Tahoe Roth. Is it true that’s where I should focus?

I then catch a glimpse of him crossing the room, leading the blonde he came to the party with out the door.





START WITH A BANG




I overslept. Or actually didn’t sleep. At the department store, we’re open from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. on New Year’s Day, and while I’m standing looking pretty and trying to be helpful behind the Chanel cosmetics counter, I replay it.

Yeah, not a good idea.

Every time I replay last night, Tahoe’s eyes seem a little darker and his gaze seems to trek over my face a little more slowly. His arms feel a little stronger and a little tighter around me. And his smell is a little fiercer and manlier.

I want to text him something funny and ludicrous. To make last night seem what it was, just another New Year’s Eve kissing the first person who passed. It could have been Rachel. Or Wynn. Or even Valentine.

But none of them would have looked at me the way Tahoe Roth did last night.

I don’t know what to text, but I fiddle with my phone and scan my Twitter to distract myself. To keep from texting him. Or maybe to stalk him. Fuck.

He posted:





Not a bad morning.


Okay Tahoe, speak in English buddy. What the hell does that mean?

I’m sure he’s referring to the strawberry-blonde he took home. Is he? But what if he isn’t? What if he, too, remembers the kiss…? The mere thought of him remembering it gives me palpitations.

It’s already been on my mind every minute since last night.

I know we’re just friends and that he can’t be monogamous and doesn’t even want to. At least he’s never hinted that he wants to, and even if he did, I have no reason to believe he’d choose me as the girl he’d want to be monogamous with. The staring contests, the panties, the tour of the chocolate factory, last night—they don’t mean anything but friendship.