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“I have a lot to thank her for.”
At six-two, he looms above me, his blue eyes glimmering like sapphires beneath the lights. I can’t pull my gaze from him. This is a tidal lock.
“I’m highly concerned you took this invitation. What if I wasn’t sitting up here and it was someone else?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Depends on what he looked like,” I say, smirking.
He narrows his eyes. “I learned something new about you tonight.”
“Yes?” I ask.
“You have averydistinct type.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Suits. It’sneverchanged.”
“We both know it’smorethan clothes. Tall. Fit. Blue eyes. Brown hair. Older than you. With a sense of style.”
“That’s the physical aspect of it. Now list the things that aren’t obvious,” I urge. “If you know me so well, there should be no issue.”
He stares at me for a long while before he smiles.
“You want a man who wants you just as you are. He has to be kind but also not afraid to tell someone to fuck off, even if that someone is you. He needs to be able to laugh and make jokes but also take accountability when wrong. When you speak, he needs to listen but also hear you. You want experience over materialistic things, even though you like to be pampered sometimes. He also has to be really fucking smart. Much smarter than you.”
My heart rapidly races. I open my mouth, then close it.
“I pay attention,” he says.
My phone buzzes. I see Lexi’s name flash on the screen, and so does Weston.
“I texted Lexi just in case the owner was some pervert and decided to kidnap me or something.”
“Ah.” He smiles. “She told me to be here.”
“Guesssomeoneis taking this matchmaking thing seriously.”
I meet his eyes, remembering last week, and I lose my words. My thoughts are tumbling in confusion. Weston has that effect on me, pulling me into his orbit with his gravitational force.
I study his mouth, watching his tongue dart to lick his lips. My internal temperature rises as something bubbles beneath the surface.
“Are you okay?” he asks, noticing my demeanor change. “How many drinks have you had?”
“Not enough, clearly.”
He leads me to the couch with him, and we sit. It’s not lost on me that we’re completely alone.
“About last weekend,” I mutter.
“It was just two friends hanging out and having fun. That’s it,” he muses with a glint in his eye. “How’d it go with Samson? You seemed happy.”
Looks can be deceiving.
“Were you watching me again?” I ask, my brow popping upward.
Weston sits back, his eyes burning into me. “Friends don’t let their friends refuck theirshittyexes, Carlee. If the roles were reversed, I’d expect you to do the same.”
My brows furrow. “You are not cockblocking me tonight. That would be two weekends in a row.”
“Yes, I am,” he admits. “I think it will be my new hobby.”