Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
His lips curved into a grin that sent butterflies swirling in my belly. “I guess it’s a good thing I had the barista put in a heavy dash of oat milk because I don’t think I got burned.”
The mention of oat milk took a couple of points off the hotness scale since I tended to be a food snob, but I figured I should cut the guy some slack, considering the situation. And maybe he was lactose intolerant or something, which had to suck because there were so many incredible dairy ingredients he’d miss out on if that was the case.
My random train of thought came to an abrupt stop when he bent over to pick up our now-empty cups, twisted around to toss them into the trash, and then lifted the hem of his shirt to check to make sure he wasn’t burned. And revealed his six-pack abs to my hungry gaze. “Holy crap.”
He lifted his shirt higher and asked, “Do you see a burn?”
That was as good of an excuse as any that I could come up with for my reaction to his ripped body. I wasn’t about to tell some random guy that I wanted to lick the line that ran down the middle of his abdomen. Especially not when the impulse was out of character for me. I was the girl who spent all of her time in the kitchen and never dated, let alone accosted strange men at coffee shops. “Um, maybe not. Sorry, I thought I did for a second, but it must’ve been a trick of the light or something.”
“See, no harm, no foul.” He let the hem of his shirt fall back into place and then glanced down at the brown splotches covering the front of his big body. “Well, nothing permanent anyway. The clothes can easily be cleaned, but a burn might’ve made me questionable for Sunday’s game.”
“Sunday’s game?” I echoed.
My confusion made him smile for some odd reason, and he nodded. “Yeah, I’m a wide receiver for the Nighthawks.”
“Oh, I see,” I mumbled, pressing my lips together in a flat line. Not only had I embarrassed myself in front of the hottest guy I’d ever seen in person, but of course he had to also be a professional athlete.
He stretched his arm in my direction. “Dempsey Tate.”
“Skye Baird,” I replied, sliding my palm against his. His hand dwarfed mine, and I was surprised by how much I liked it. “Um, about your clothes…and cleaning them. I’ll pay for that since it was totally my fault they’re covered in coffee. And if you have time to wait for another, I’ll get you a replacement drink. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Stopping in for a coffee instead of making a cup at home had already strained my meager budget, so offering to pay for his dry cleaning and a drink to replace the one I’d made him spill was going to hurt. But it was the right thing to do even though I wanted to cry over the fact that I’d only gotten one sip of my delicious indulgence before it landed on him and the sidewalk.
He shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”
“No, really,” I insisted, instead of taking the out he was so kindly giving me. Like I should since he could clearly afford to pay for dry cleaning more easily than I could. “It’s only fair since I’m the one who caused this mess.”
His blue eyes deepened to navy as his gaze swept down my body. His stare was so intense, it almost felt as though he was touching me, and goose bumps followed in the wake of his look. “If you really want to make it up to me, you could marry me instead.”
My jaw literally dropped at his words. The proposal—from a hot stranger I’d drenched in coffee—had to be a joke. This wasn’t one of the romantic comedies my former roommate loved to watch. There was zero chance that this guy had fallen in love with me at first sight. Not when he looked the way he did and played professional football, and I was…well, me.
The idea was so absurd that as I shook my head, laughter bubbled up my chest and spilled from my lips.
3
Dempsey
Damn, I’d never seen anything more beautiful than this curvy brunette laughing—or as arousing. Granted, I wasn’t happy that Skye hadn’t taken my offer seriously, but I couldn’t really blame her. How often does a man you just spilled coffee on ask you to marry him? Especially one who was a decade older.
The words had just kind of spewed from my mouth before I could stop them. Once they were out, I immediately knew I was completely serious. This woman was mine. It was ironic that we’d been discussing asking some woman on the street to wear my ring, then I bumped into—literally—the woman I wanted to wear it permanently.