Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(8)

“Not even a little bit,” she answers as I reach for the edges of my sweatshirt and pull. “I just had some work to catch up on.”

Her voice cuts off when I partially remove my T-shirt in the process of yanking off my sweatshirt. It’s not intentional, but I’ll admit, I like the results. I grin when I catch Sol jerking her focus from the muscles lining my chest and forcing it back onto my face.

I tug my tight T-shirt back in place slowly. “Like what you see?” I ask, adding a wink.

This time she laughs for real, despite how her face turns pink. “You’re . . .”

“Hot?” I offer.

She laughs again. “I was going to say―”

“Alpha male sexy with Greek god-like charm?” I ask, cutting her off again.

She grins, but doesn’t exactly deny it. “Did you spontaneously pick out all those adjectives? Or do you keep them handy to impress the ladies?”

I think my quickness surprised her, but I can’t say she’s completely off. “Some reporter wrote it about Gerard Butler,” I admit. “But I thought it was fitting enough.”

This time she covers her mouth to hold back her laughter. “You’re something else,” she says, dropping her hand away.

“I’ve been called worse,” I admit. “Thanks, Suv,” I add when he drops off a giant glass of water and my omelet. “You want something?” I ask Sol.

“Thank you, but I’m good with just coffee.”

I nod and dig into my food. I’m not as hungry as I appear, but I don’t want to overdo it with Sol. That doesn’t mean I don’t like how her smile seems to linger and how it keeps finding its way into her pretty eyes.

“What about you?” I ask.

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

“If you were to describe yourself, how would it be?”

She crinkles her nose. “Why do you want to know?”

I shrug, trying to keep my voice easy. “Maybe cause I want to know you.” I’ll admit, for all I’m messing with her that much is true. We’ve crossed paths a handful of times, at a couple of weddings and a few parties. But I still don’t know Sol as more than as that sweet, sexy woman who hooks me with her smile.

She nibbles on her bottom lip, like she’s trying to keep herself quiet. When her attention shifts to the window where a group of kids are heading off to school, I don’t think she’s going to answer. But then she does, or at least tries to.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Studious maybe?”

I stop mid-chew, swallowing hard so I can speak. “Studious?” I repeat. At her nod I say. “Is that the best you can do?”

She smirks. “I know it’s not the same as having Greek god-like charm, but we all can’t be Thor.”

“Thor?” I ask.

I’m trying to stir that cute blush again, and while her cheeks go slightly pink, this time she doesn’t turn away. “You know Thor, the guy with the really big hammer?” She shrugs. “You have to respect the hammer.”

“Damn, there’s so much I can say to that.” I hold out my hand. “But I won’t because I’m a classy guy.”

“Classy, alpha, and charming?” she rests her cheek on her hand. “Tell me more.”

The way the side of her face falls perfectly against her hand coupled with the way she waits patiently to hear what I have to say, momentarily holds me in place. A lot of women I’ve dated strike poses to look good and show off their assets. I’m not talking about when they’re standing for pictures―I mean in general, for attention, so I’ll buy them a drink, and yeah, to get me to take them home and f*ck them. I’ve walked in on a few practicing their stances, adjusting their expressions and curves just so in front of a mirror. It’s fake, well-rehearsed, and effective. But the way Sol is sitting in front of me doesn’t appear anything close to phony. She looks good―damn good―don’t get me wrong. Yet it’s like she genuinely wants to hear what I have to say and this is simply who she is.

It shouldn’t give me pause like it does. Sol’s just―I don’t know―real I guess. Maybe that’s why she’s been so hard to forget, despite our mostly brief interactions throughout the years.

I push my empty plate aside, crossing my arms in front of me and leaning in close. “What do you want to know?”

She gives it some thought. “What do you think your best feature is?”

“Besides these muscles you can’t stop looking at?” I ask, stretching. When that blush finds its way back into that face, and it looks like it’s taking all she has to keep her eyes off my body, I’ll admit it’s my turn to smirk. I wasn’t positive she was attracted to me. Not like I am to her. Now that I know she is, I want to play and tease her a little more. But I hold back, though it takes some effort. “I have to say my jaw,” I answer.

“Your jaw?” Again it’s like she’s fighting to keep from looking elsewhere.

“Yup. I can take a hit, and it’s never been broken.”

“Well, thank God for that,” she says cringing. She scans my face. “What about your nose?”

“That’s been busted three times.”

Her mouth pops open. “Seriously?”