Mister Dick

They all nodded and murmured among themselves. I knew they were dying to know the answer, but for once were too polite to ask.

“Who are you hooking up with?” I asked.

The look on her face was priceless.

“What? You’re not having sex? You feeling a little left out?”

“Oh no,” Ali moaned behind me.

“I’m not…” Nervous, the reporter stumbled over her words. “I mean, that’s none of your business.”

“Exactly,” I replied, leaning in close enough to whisper and have her hear it. “But just so you know, Boyd Appleton is the best lay I’ve ever had.” I turned away from her, suddenly done with this game, but paused when I heard her voice, sounding a little too satisfied.

“Is that what you’re going to tell him when you see him inside?”

Shit.

And fuck.

This chick was better than me.

I ignored her and headed into the event. As soon as we cleared the doors, I turned to Ali. “Is she right?”

My assistant looked confused. “About what?”

“Boyd,” I hissed under my breath. “I didn’t see him on the list. Is he here?”

“I don’t know. Let me ask Joan.” She looked at her phone and fired off a message while I fiddled with my hair, which didn’t need fiddling, and smoothed out my pants, which didn’t need smoothing.

People shouted my name, and I smiled, an automatic gesture, all the while watching Ali. Her eyes were glued to her phone, and when she looked up, her expression was guarded. Like she was afraid I’d pounce. Or cause a scene.

“Just tell me.”

She nodded. “He’s on the list. Looks like he was a last-minute addition. He and some guy named Malcolm James.”

Are you kidding me? I think my mouth fell open. Or maybe it just felt like it. Why in hell was Boyd here? Was God punishing me for being a selfish pain-in-the-ass human? I wasn’t ready for him. I’d barely processed what had happened at the cabin.

Shit. I turned in a full circle, prepared to run because that was how much the thought of him affected me. Screw the fundraiser. To hell with the poor little fluff balls who’d be euthanized or thrown out in the cold snow. I had my own shit to deal with.

Some guy came up to me. I’m sure he was handsome and hot and successful. He looked the part. I saw his mouth move and knew he was talking to me, but Jesus, my survival instincts kicked in, and he became nothing but white noise.

I needed a plan. Needed some time. A couple of years, at least.

But it was too late. Of course it was too late.

I felt Boyd before I saw him. Like a whisper of air that rolled over my skin and left his imprint behind. When I saw him, I pretty much went down in flames, like I’d been shot out of the sky. Like I was falling and there was no one to catch me. And the whole time, people stared. Taking pictures. I sensed their glee and curiosity at the thought something might happen.

He stood several feet away, a throng of people around him, vying for his attention. Models. Actors. Athletes. Socialites. His pull was that strong.

He was dressed in faded jeans, kick-ass boots, and a leather jacket that had seen better days. With his hair all over the place, a five-o’clock shadow, and dark eyes hooded, he looked like every girl’s fantasy. A slow, dull throb began down below, which was inconvenient.

Boyd Appleton looked dangerous as hell. He looked like a predator.

He looked hungry.

My mouth went dry, and I’m pretty sure I squeaked.

He was looking at me.