Curvy(13)

By: Alexa Riley



“Was that Sally woman okay?” I ask, trying to lighten the thickness that seems to have coated the room.

“She was just curious about you.”

“Curious about me? Why?”

“Sally’s worked for me a long time, and never have I asked her to set something like this up for me.” He motions to the table. “Hell, she’s never even seen me show interest in a woman, even though she’s always trying to push me to date.”

“She tries to get you to date?” I ask. That seems a little odd. I don’t think Flynn would have a hard time finding dates. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not one of the most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles.

“She thinks I’m a workaholic. Which is true,” he admits. “I’ve never even brought a woman here before, and today I called her all in a rush to have something set up here to get you into my home where you belong.”

At his words, what he said earlier when he was pulling me from studio comes back to mind. “You’re the only reason I was here for the shoot today.” I repeat the words to him.

“Yes.” One hand cups my cheek, his thumbs stroking my jaw. “Since your picture landed on my desk, I knew I had to meet you, so I set things in motion to make that happen. It’s what I do, Cali. I just seem to know when something is worth going for, and when I saw you, I just knew you’d be mine.”

His other hand tightens a little on my thigh, like he thinks I might spring from his lap and run. Maybe I should. This is crazy after all, but I find myself leaning into his hand, liking his touch, his words. Hell, I like everything about him.

“Good. I like that you came after me. It got me here sitting in your lap.”

His face lights up at that, a smile spreading across it. He places a kiss on my lips but pulls back too soon for my liking.

“Let me feed you.” His hand drops away from my cheek as he reaches for the silver lid, lifting it to reveal a chili hot dog and tater tots. I burst out laughing because that is absolutely the last thing I would have guessed to be under that lid.

“It’s your favorite,” he says, clearly confused about my laughter.

“It is,” I agree, “but how did you know that? Or do I want to know?”

“A few years back, you did an interview with some curvy girl blog. One of the questions was about your favorite thing to eat.

I just stare at him, unsure how to respond to that. I can’t even remember the article, but it wasn’t unusual for me to do things like that for random blogs and magazines.

“You also don’t care for tiny dogs, want to own your own clothing line someday, and your first kiss was from a boy named Steven, whose last name I can’t seem to locate.” He growls the last part.

“Why do you need Steven’s last name?” I have no idea why I choose to pick up on that after all he’s just said.

“I have my reasons.” He growls that part, too, the jealousy clear in his voice. It makes me laugh.

“It was the sixth grade and it was terrible. Does that make you feel any better?” I tease. I’m smiling so big I’m sure I look like a freaking goofball, but the fact that he’s jealous of Steve—who told everyone I showed him my boobs, ending our one week boyfriend-girlfriend fling—is funny, cute and oddly turns me on.

“Not really.”

I laugh even harder, and he finally cracks a smile.

“Anything else you seem to know about me?”

“I read them all. Anything and everything I could find on you. I needed something to hold me over until I got you here.”

“This is crazy, you know,” I tell him.

He brings a tater tot to my mouth, and I open for him.

“I don’t care if it’s crazy. I needed something. I thought getting some information on you would help cool whatever this is, this need I seem to have for you, but it didn’t work.”

I don’t like the idea of him cooling over me. I actually have this odd desire to throw fuel on this fire.

“Is it cooling now? Now that I’m sitting on your lap?”

“No.” He picks up the hot dog and brings it to my mouth. I take a bite. His eyes are now trained on my mouth since he started feeding me. “It’s getting worse.”

My body warms at his confession, and now I have a need, too.

“It’s not fair. You have me at a disadvantage. I didn’t have a chance to Google you. Everyone else seemed to know who you were today.”

“Ask me anything you want and I’ll tell you,” he says, offering me another bite.

“Give me the basics.”

“I’m thirty-three, both my parents have passed, I’ve got a Master’s in Business from UCLA, I own a hedge fund firm, and like you already know, I’m a workaholic and that’s pretty much all I do.”

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