Sweet Obsession

“Mm, I don’t think that’s right,” Joey says, laughing. “Although, how many apple turnovers did Reese consume when you two were dating, but not dating, but totally dating?”

“Shut up.”

I straighten and close the box, rounding the counter and heading for the door. “Right. I’d say wish me luck, but we all know I don’t need it.”

Their remarks, if they have any, are lost amongst the traffic from the street as I step outside. I wait not so patiently for a break to cross, shifting on my feet, taking quick bursts of air into my lungs.

Why am I suddenly nervous?

Because you’re about to suggest a night of scandalous indecency to a man who looks like the definition of the word ‘orgasm.’

Ridiculous. He can’t be that hot. I’m sure some of his attractiveness will soften the closer I get.

Like a mirage. He’ll vanish before I can touch him.

Steadying the box in my hands, I quickly pad across the street.

Determined.

Mildly apprehensive.

One hundred percent turned-on.

MASON

I did it.

Holy fuck, I actually did it.

Linking my hands behind my head, I gaze up at the sign I had installed yesterday. The morning sun strikes against the sharp edge of the letters, deepening the richness of the color.

My chest swells with pride. My stomach flips wildly, reminding me of my nerves and the giant risk I’m taking doing this.

Contradicting reactions battling for dominance. Equal in strength, I’m the perfect blend of fearless and frozen.

This is official, scary as hell, and quite possibly the biggest thing I’ll ever do. I’ve dreamed of owning my own studio for years, since I first started instructing. The passion I have for this, the drive, it’s there, but bloody hell, so is the worry I’m in way over my head. Never did I imagine I’d actually get this opportunity. And here I am, starting this new venture in a city completely foreign to me.

I pinch my eyes shut through a slow inhale.

This has the potential to be amazing, my greatest accomplishment, maybe the only fucking thing I’ll ever do that’ll mean something.

I have the potential to completely fuck it all up.

Right, mate. Way to stay positive.

“Admiring the view?”

My arms fall heavy to my sides. My eyes fly open.

“I gotta say,” the low, velvety voice behind me continues. “I really don’t blame you. I’ve been doing my own fair share of staring this morning.”

I turn my head, intrigued.

A woman, obviously, I knew before I turned around I’d be coming face-to-face with a woman. Only not this woman. Never in my wildest imagination could I conjure up this vision as she steps up to join me on the footpath, then stumbles forward the second our eyes lock.

“Oomph!”

I reach out, gripping her elbows and taking her weight. Her skin feels electric. “All right there, sweetheart?”

Steadying herself, she slowly lifts her head, her lips parting as she stares at my mouth with the strangest look. A mixture of intrigue and disbelief.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

I exhale a laugh. “I never quite understood that expression. What exactly does ‘shitting me’ mean? Seems like a bad thing, yeah?”

“Bad?” She smiles, just the slightest, dangerously slow pull of her lips, as if she’s already planned out this interaction and is ten steps ahead, waiting for me to catch up. “No, not bad, just didn’t think it was possible you could get any hotter. Then, boom, you have to go and open your hot Australian mouth and completely blow my mind. ‘Shitting me,’ in this case, is a very, very good thing.”

“But, it could also be used negatively.”

“Of course. If you dropped your shorts and I discovered you were in the process of going through gender reassignment surgery. In that unfortunate scenario, my ‘you’ve got to be shitting me’ would carry a whole new connotation.”

“Ah, well, I assure you,” I begin, leaning closer. “That wouldn’t be the case.”

Her eyebrow arches. “Prove it.”

“You’re serious.”

She tips her chin up, waiting.

Jesus Christ. This little thing could destroy me.

Drop my shorts, right here? No, obviously I wouldn’t, but fuck if I don’t want to maybe pull her inside and shock her a little. Show off my cock to a woman who looks like she’s ready to eat me alive.

A soft laugh erupts from her. She’s amused. I feel like I’m watching a wolf circle an innocent flock of sheep.

Eyeing up one very tempted sheep in particular.

Dimples, possibly the only cute thing about her, draw my attention from one side of her face to the other, and then my eyes can’t seem to stop roaming over her features, drinking her in. Dark, soft curls. Large hazel eyes. Her skin, olive and pink in the cheeks.

Now I’m the one doing my own fair share of staring. I clear my head and look down, realizing then I still have my hold on her.

“Sorry.” I let my hands fall away. “I’m Mason, by the way.”

“Brooke. And no need to apologize. I’d never complain if your hands were on me.”

I almost step back, if only to keep myself from pulling her into my arms and testing that theory. Groping a woman I just met in broad daylight isn’t normally a desire I find myself battling against.

But it’s never been this woman challenging me.

“Is that so?” I ask, smiling. “You’d never complain? No matter what I was doing?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">