“You’ll never guess who was just in my office.”
“Probably not. So tell me.”
“Lincoln Landry.” The line goes quiet. After a few long seconds, I realize she has no idea who I’m talking about. “Star centerfielder for the Tennessee Arrows?” I offer.
“Ohhhh . . .”
“Yeah, ohhhh.”
“Sorry. If it’s not a fighter or a player for Boston, I don’t know them. I’m fairly certain Will would break up with me if he suspected I liked anyone other than his Red Sox.”
“Google Lincoln. It’s worth the possible break up,” I say, fanning my still-red cheeks. “He’s literally the best looking guy I’ve ever seen, Macie.”
“That’s saying a lot coming from you, Miss Hottie Magnet.”
My mind goes through the photo album of men I’ve met or known in my life. It’s a pretty spectacular list, thanks to being the child of Bryan and Tracey Ashley Kipling. Athletes, movie stars, models? I’ve seen them all. And none of them hold a candle to Lincoln Landry in person.
The confidence he carries is such a turn-on. Borderline cocky. Halfway arrogant, yet he pulls it off because he has every right to be those things. He’s delicious. Hot. Talented. Wealthy. From what the media says, he’s also funny and kind and sweet.
Screw him and his perfect resume.
And flawless face.
And delicious body.
And probably game-winning stamina. I’m going to be a mess today just thinking about it.
“Why was he in your office?” Macie asks, right as I was ready to mentally remove his clothes. “Oh my God, Danielle! I just pulled him up. Why can’t I be you? Just for a day?”
“I’m quite happy I’m me today,” I laugh. “He just walked off the elevator on the wrong floor and followed me to my office.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter? Now I’m sitting here with wet panties, his ‘Fuck me’ cologne filling my office, and all sorts of ideas as to what his body looks like under those sweatpants and t-shirt.”
“He wore sweatpants?” she gulps.
“Yup.”
“Shit,” she breathes, a squeak in her voice. “Those are the sexiest things ever. Shouldn’t be, but they are. Don’t even tell me they sat low on his hips.”
“I won’t,” I sigh dreamily. My eyes flutter closed as the broadness of his shoulders fill my memory, the way his chest tapered down on the sides to one trim, hard waist. My fingers sing as I imagine running my hands down what I’m sure is an etched V. “He swaggered in here like a rock star. He wore sweatpants like most men wear a tailored suit, Mace. Like . . . he must really be good if he’s that confident.”
“Oh, I bet he’s good. Check out that arm porn in his pictures. And those hands—dear Lord! Think of what they could do to you.” A camera shutter sounds through the phone. “Here, I’m texting you a screenshot of this one.”
“That’s precisely what I’m trying not to think about,” I laugh. “I have to work for the next five hours!”
Macie sighs right along with me. “On that note, I need to get back to work too. No hot baseball players here, but one can hope, right?”
“Two words: Will Gentry.”
“I need to call you later and tell you about last night. I’m being invaded by families right now, so I can’t get into details. I’ll just say that boy had me panting for hours, Danielle. Hours.”
“Call me later,” I laugh.
“Cheerio!”
I replace the handset and settle back into my seat. A shiver tears through my body, an aftershock from being in the center of the Landry storm. I consider locking the door and getting myself off. I need the release. My body needs to return to normal working order, having been thrusted up the—