Saving Savannah

One

SAVANNAH

“You can just put that anywhere…”

The mover bent at the knees, but my eyes stayed glued to his bare arms. His great biceps, bulging and flexing. The cut of his triceps, straining against those broad, muscular shoulders. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat now. An extra glisten and shine that made everything that much more delicious.

“Ma’am?”

I shook my head to clear it of my self-induced trance. The other two men were standing there waiting on me, holding another pair of the heavier boxes.

“Okay those…” I pointed one by one. “Living room. Bedroom.” Then, adding my sweetest smile: “Please.”

They shuffled off in opposite directions, leaving my eyes torn with a hard decision. Each of them had an amazingly firm, rounded ass. Ultimately I went with the blond, whose jeans were tighter.

“You should start unpacking,” the first man said with a chuckle. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“I’d still rather help,” I said, following him down the stairs.

“You really don’t have to,” he replied. “That’s what you hired us for.”

“I know. But still…”

The number I’d called on the flyer said something about ‘College Hunks’. It came complete with the graphic of a handsome, barrel-chested youth with big, strong arms.

I just never imagined I’d actually get someone like that.

Much less three someones.

And yet here they were — almost exactly like the little caricature on the flyer. Three giant, college-age movers with bulging arms and square-set jaws. They met me at the truck, down in the street. Each looking more chiseled and beautiful than the one before.

“You’ve got an awful lot of stuff,” the first one said as we reached the truck. He stood on the sidewalk for a second, setting his strong hands on his slender hips. “It’s just you up there?”

I hesitated for an awkward moment. Eventually, I nodded.

“Sorry ma’am,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s alright.”

“It isn’t, really,” he replied. “I shouldn’t be—”

“Calling me ma’am?” I chuckled. “The others look like they’re in college, but you…”

He turned to look back at me, and his blue eyes sparkled. “Twenty-six.”

“Ah, now see? You’re a few years older than me!”

A smile curled its way up one side of his mouth, splitting his gorgeous, stubbled face. God, he was beautiful. So strong and savage-looking.

“Tell ya what,” I said, returning his grin. “Start calling me Savannah, and I’ll start calling you…”

“Erik,” he said, wiping one palm on his jeans. “With a K.”

He extended his hand, which was attached to a very tattooed arm. I shook it, noticing how big and calloused and amazing it was.

“Nice to meet you, Erik with a K.”

“Likewise.”