Ladies Man (Manwhore #4)(53)
“Face off!”
“Score Red!”
“Face off!”
“Score Red!”
“Face off!”
“Score Red!”
“Face off!”
“Score Red!”
*
We’re the last ones in the locker room as he finishes changing, but rather than leave, he drops down on the bench and pulls me down with him.
“Hey. Next month…come over with me to my parents’ anniversary dinner? I’m tired of the speech they give me every time I go home, same damn tune over and over.”
“They want you to stop your womanizing ways, yadda yadda?”
“More like yadda yadda.”
“They don’t want you to stop your womanizing ways? Huh.”
“Just come.”
I flush. Not because I’m embarrassed, but because I know a man like Tahoe could definitely make me come.
The word sits in the air between us, low and soft. His eyes are dark and stormy, as they get when he’s thinking about something I can only guess at, and I wonder if the word has the same effect on him that it does on me.
I really didn’t need the image of him coming, but now it’s in my brain. I picture his features contorting in ecstasy, harsh with effort, the way I imagine a man like him comes, and he must look so sexy, so very sexy. How he pumps, raw and ready, and I hear him laugh now and I’m all red as I wonder if he knows that my mind wandered there.
He tells me the exact date we leave. “I’ll pick you up at nine. We’ll fly down there.” His eyes reveal none of his thoughts, but that does nothing to calm the flush on my face.
“What’s the weather like?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“You’ve never been to Texas?”
“Never.”
He laughs. “It’s a trip to hell in the summer.”
ROOTS
It’s the second Thursday of September when I climb aboard Tahoe’s Hummer and we drive to the airport. Recently things have felt a little tenser between us. The air feels charged, as if our bodies are made of electricity and the space between us is a crackling outlet just waiting to be plugged in. I’m glad, though, that neither of us feels pressured to talk, and instead we listen to “Elastic Heart” by Sia and a few other songs that play on the radio.
Tense or not, we keep stealing glances at each other, and whenever we do, a smile tugs at our lips. Which makes me happy—happy that he seems glad to have invited me to join him.
He pulls us into an airport dedicated to private aircraft, where a pilot greets us and loads our luggage into the plane’s outer compartment.
I follow him into the huge private airplane and Tahoe asks me to take a seat, then heads to the cockpit to take the handle, with the pilot settled in the copilot’s seat.
I fasten my seat belt and admire the luxurious interior for a few minutes before Tahoe leads the airplane to the takeoff belt. Before I know it, we’re speeding down the runway and taking off.
I read Heaven, Texas during the flight, and when my eyes start to ache from reading, I tuck my book away and alternate between admiring the blue, cloud-specked sky and tracking the plane’s progress across the multiple screens along the aircraft walls.
The speakers flare. “You okay back there, Regina?”
Grinning, I peer down the plane aisle toward the cockpit to find him glancing past his shoulder at me. He’s wearing a headset and has a twinkle in his eye that makes my stomach warm. He winks and says, “We’ll be landing shortly, buckle up.”
I check my seat belt and watch the mix of dry and irrigated Texas land patches come closer and closer. My nerves and excitement keep building. I wonder when I’ve ever looked forward to something as much as I do to spending time with him.
After he lands the plane effortlessly, we head down the tarmac toward a large SUV waiting outside.
Soon we’re heading out of the airport and into the city and toward a sprawling two-story house set amidst oaks and cedars and a driveway dotted with stylishly cut rosemary bushes.
I’m excited to be here. As we head up the driveway, I notice that Tahoe’s more interested in my reaction than anything else.
“You grew up here?”
“In the city, yes, the home, no. I bought it for my parents when I was able to upgrade them—a token of gratitude for putting up with me.” He smirks then leads me toward the front door.
I soon realize that everything is definitely bigger in Texas. The guys, their hands, feet, and definitely their houses. “Mi casa es su casa,” he says with a smirk, drawing it out in Spanish. His hand is light and coaxing on my back as he leads me forward and it makes me feel a sense of protection.
His mother is the epitome of what a mother should look like. Warm, slightly chubby, with rosy cheeks and neatly cropped hair and a lovely old-fashioned dress. His father is tall and blond, as blue-eyed as Tahoe. Their faces light up at the sight of him walking through the front door. But his mother’s smile instantly turns into a frown.
“A beard? Oh no. I like my son clean shaven, thank you very much,” his mom says, kissing him noisily.
“It’s not your beard to shave, Momma,” he smirks, smacking her with a kiss.
“Oh, I can’t stand the feel of facial hair!” She laughs and rubs his cheek, and Tahoe looks at me and gives me a smile that sends my pulse racing.