Page 5 of A Vegas Crush Collection #3

ask me anything

Devon

Oh God. That hot guy is coming this way.

Broad shoulders fill out his jacket with the suggestion of strong muscles moving underneath.

He’s tall, at least six five, with dark hair and a slight five-o’clock shadow.

He’s in a suit that fits really, really well, his crisp, white shirt open at the throat.

No tie. He looks smart and professional and slick.

Like, if he came to my house to sell me a vacuum cleaner, I’d probably buy two.

I turn to Gia, my face clearly set to Full Panic. “It’s fine, Dev. He’ll probably ask to buy you a drink. It will be good.” She nods slowly at me with a teasing grin.

“Anything in my teeth?” Before she can answer, I add, “My hair look okay?”

Gia snickers. “You’re perfect.”

“How’s my breath?” I ask, blowing in her face.

“Fine. Jesus, Devon, I’ve never seen you so twisted up about a random…oh, here he is.”

I turn to find the super-hot guy is even hotter up close. Warm hazel eyes, movie-star face. My panties melt a little.

“Hi,” he says.

My throat is suddenly totally dry. I mean, I am thirsty. I smile, but I’m pretty sure I might look like I’m in pain. Somehow, I squeak out a, “Hey.”

Gia adds to my misery by looking at her nonexistent watch and saying, “Oh, geesh, look at the time. I’ve got a thing to check in on. Have a good night and call me later.”

And she leaves. My wretched, wretched little beast of a best friend leaves me all alone with this gorgeous man. A man so gorgeous, in fact, I think he could give micro-orgasms by looking at me like he’s doing right now. Wow.

“Can I join you for a drink?” He gestures to where two seats have magically opened at the bar.

I bite my lip and nod, and it’s the darndest thing—he gives me an honest to God, authentic smile.

It feels like a real smile, as if he’s relieved.

Like he thought I might say no and he’s genuinely happy I said yes.

I can barely find my own tongue in my mouth right now, so it’s hard to believe this guy would ever be worried about any woman saying no, but still… it makes me feel oddly special.

It’s disarming.

He looms for a moment, leaning over the bar to catch the bartender’s attention. He’s got to be six five, six six. Very tall. Very broad. Athletic. So very vibrator-worthy. I’ll be remembering him when I bust it out of my suitcase later.

We place our drink orders, and as the bartender walks away, he says, “So you’re here for a conference, I gather?”

I nod. “The forced small talk gave it away, or what?”

“The name badges, mostly,” he says, grinning. “Though you seem to have forgotten yours.”

I look down and realize I have, indeed, forgotten my name badge. “Oops.”

Our drinks come and we each take a sip before I ask, “I take it you are not here for a conference?”

“No, a job interview.” He strokes his chin with his thumb and index finger until they meet in the middle. Oh, Lord, help me.

“Oh—oh, where are you from?” I cringe internally at my stammer.

“Alberta.” Ah, that explains the very slight accent I hear in his voice. He’s Canadian. A really hot, sexy Canadian.

“And what do you think of Vegas so far?”

He lifts a shoulder. “So far, it’s been good. I haven’t seen much of it, though I do like what I’ve seen very much.”

The comment comes along with a look that tells me he is not talking about the city. And it makes me extremely uncomfortable between the legs.

He seems to be eating up the sight of my squirming, the tiniest smirk playing at his lips as I squeeze my crossed legs together to stop the heated desire that pools there. Did it just get really hot in here?

Yes! Why yes, it did.

I think I need a glass of water. And a cold pool to jump in.

“So, I’m wondering if you’d be up for a challenge,” he says smoothly.

“Oh?”

“I’m thinking we could try talking about anything other than our jobs or old relationships.”

“I suppose we could give it a try. Though I do work a lot, so it might be hard.”

“I’ll bet you’re much more than your job. You start. Ask me anything.”

I look at him through narrowed eyes as I think of a question. “What kind of music do you like?”

He sits back on his bar stool, his glass of whisky in hand. “I like lots of different types of music, honestly. I listen to rock music to pump myself up. I like country music when I’m having my feels. Rap music is fun when I’m driving. I hate musicals, though. Hope that’s not a deal breaker?”

“No, it’s not. I love theater, and I love dance, and I love music, but put them all together and I suddenly want to throw myself in front of a speeding train.”

“My kind of woman,” he says, that grin of his killing me all over again. “My turn. What is your favorite vegetable, and which one turns your stomach?”

“Well, I love to cook, so I’m not that picky, honestly. I love transforming greens into something unique, so I guess they’re my favorite? They don’t turn my stomach, but I’m not a huge fan of mushrooms. If prepared right, I can tolerate them, but I don’t relish the idea of eating fungus.”

“Fair enough. Also not a fan of the mushrooms,” he says.

“Okay…are you a dog or a cat person?”

“Um, both? I like animals. I don’t have any pets, but I’ve thought about getting one recently. I’d probably get a cat because they seem more independent. I’ve always traveled a lot, and I feel like that wouldn’t be fair to a dog, but a cat wouldn’t care.”

“I can see that. Your turn.”

“Have you ever traveled abroad? What was your favorite place?”

“I have,” I say. I almost say that my ex-husband made some international basketball trips but then stop myself, since talking about exes is off the table for this particular conversation.

I take a sip of my cosmo and add, “I loved Italy. It was a breathtakingly beautiful country. The people are warm and passionate. The food is amazing. I think I gained ten pounds while I was there.”

He points to my nearly empty glass with a questioning look, and I nod. “Maybe one more?”

Once our second round of drinks arrives, we resume our back-and-forth.

“Your turn,” he prompts.

“Um…Mac or PC?”

This makes him laugh and I nearly lose it. Deep and sexy, it rumbles straight through me to land in my lower belly. I cannot with this guy, seriously. Such a sexy, sexy man, I might want to climb onto his lap like right freaking now.

I need to be honest with myself though. I am not drunk.

I’ve had two and a half cosmos, and I can handle my liquor.

And I do date sometimes, but most guys don’t hold my interest. And I don’t usually want someone in my bed the minute I meet them.

In fact, most never make it that far, even after a few dates.

This guy, though? I want him, and I’m not all that conflicted about it, either.

“Mac,” he says, nodding. “I use an iPhone and I like having things sync. I think I’ve forgotten how to use Windows.”

“That Apple does make a good product.”

“What is your favorite sport?” he asks.

“To play or to watch?”

“Either. Both.”

“Well, I like hockey to watch. And soccer. I played soccer in high school but then I got really into cross-country and track. I ended up running for two years in college, but then I got bored with the competition, and now I just run to stay healthy.”

His eyebrows raise and I can’t quite figure out what has surprised him. He just says, “Most people don’t give up on college sports unless they have an injury.”

I lift a shoulder. “I’m not a particularly competitive person. I just liked running, and I was good at it, and I got pulled into collegiate sports because it helped pay for school. But in the end, I just wasn’t that excited about it. So…my turn?”

He nods. “Your turn.”

We keep this up through the ends of our drinks, which takes a while. Maybe we’re both enjoying this too much to rush? Possibly? I’m not totally sure of his take on this meeting, of course, but it feels like we have an easy connection.

He asks if I want another, but I err on the side of not wanting to be hung over in my conference sessions tomorrow. He refuses to let me pay for anything, and as we stand, our eyes meet, and he says, “I really want to kiss you right now. Is that weird? Would that be weird?”

My mouth hangs open. We’re in the middle of a hotel bar and I don’t know what I was expecting because I’ve been thinking about sex with him since, like, two minutes after we met, but still. I’m not a kiss-a-stranger-in-public kind of person.

When he asks, “May I?”

I nod.

He leans in and his lips are perfect against mine.

He’s not hesitant, but he’s also not greedy.

He’s commanding, firm, his tongue grazes my bottom lip, and I melt into him, opening, letting him taste my mouth.

He tastes like whisky and it’s a heady thing.

Literally intoxicating. His hand finds my lower back as he increases the intensity.

I’m wet and throbbing, and it takes everything I have not to rub myself against him right here, in front of everyone in this bar.

When he pulls away, he looks as dazed as I feel. We stare at each other as I bite my lower lip again, contemplating what happens next.

I hear myself asking, “Is there more where that came from?”

It doesn’t sound like my voice at all. In fact, I’ve never propositioned a guy before. How did this happen?

“My room or yours?” is his response.