My Kind of Perfect (Finding Love 3)

“Chase! My laptop!” she complains, jumping up to grab it.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

She drops her hands and sighs. “I just… I miss my sister,” she admits with a shrug. “I guess… I’m kind of lonely.” Tears fill her eyes, but she quickly blinks them away. “Now can I have my laptop back, please?” she whispers.

I knew she and Lexi were close, but I didn’t consider that Lexi moving out would be this hard for her. I’ve been so busy focusing on my own shit, like moving forward after my divorce, that I haven’t paid attention.

“Come out with me tonight,” I suggest.

“So I can play third wheel to whichever woman you’re planning to dick tonight?” Her face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m good.”

I bark out a laugh, shocked and kind of turned on that she said dick. How very unlike Georgia. “I’m not going to dick anyone. I’m just going to have a drink with the guys.” I had every intention of getting my dick wet tonight, but I can hold off one night to get Georgia out of the house.

“C’mon,” I press. “You might even have fun.” I mock gasp and she rolls her eyes.

“Fine.” She sighs, trying to sound like going out is such a hardship. “I guess I could use the change of scenery.”

“And an alcoholic beverage,” I add. “Get dressed, so we can go.”

I head out to the living room and drop onto the couch to wait for her. Women take hours to get ready, so I text the guys I’m meeting that I’m running late and warn them Georgia will be tagging along, so they know to be on their best behavior. Since Georgia sometimes stops by the fire station with Lexi to visit Alec, they know her. But since she’s kind of a recluse, nobody besides her family really knows her.

I’m texting Carter back, when I hear the click-clack of heels on the wood floor. I look up, mid-text, and am shocked as shit by the sight in front of me. For one, I swear she’s gotten ready in under twenty minutes. Something I’ve never seen a woman do before. But also, I’ve seen her occasionally dress up, and it’s always on the conservative side. However, right now, what she’s wearing is anything but.

Her black tank top is a turtleneck, hiding her cleavage, yet it’s form-fitting, showing off the outline of her perky tits and slim waist. You can’t technically see anything, but you can damn sure imagine what’s underneath. She’s wearing tiny—and I mean tiny—white shorts that show off her creamy, toned legs. Holy shit! My eyes land on her feet, and she’s donning black open-toed heels with little ribbons on the tops and red soles on the bottoms. My mind immediately goes to her legs wrapped around my waist with those heels digging into my back as I fuck—

Jesus! I. Cannot. Go. There.

“Do I look stupid?” she asks, forcing my eyes to go to her face. Her hair is down in waves, and the glasses she wears when she’s reading or working on the computer are absent. Her lashes are coated in a thin layer of mascara and her lips are shiny. But aside from that, she’s all natural, and fucking beautiful. I knew she was pretty. Once upon a time, I even considered trying to hook up with her, but Alec pulled the best friend card, and I never bothered to look again. I mean, she’s always in sweats and oversized shirts when she’s lounging around the house. And when she leaves, jeans and a T-shirt. I had no fucking clue what was hiding under there.

“I’m going to go change,” she says with a sigh, knocking me out of my thoughts.

“No!” I yell too loudly, causing her brows to rise in confusion. “I mean, no,” I choke out, clearing my throat. “You look good.”

Every night I go out, I come across women in expensive outfits and caked-on makeup trying way too hard—which is the norm in LA—yet here she is, wearing shorts, a simple top, and a pair of heels, and she blows any woman I’ve ever come across away.

And the worst part… she has no damn clue.

“Are you sure?” she asks cautiously. “Lexi left these here… Well, except the shoes. These are mine. Lexi bought them for me…” She rambles on, and all I can do is stare at her pouty pink lips. “I don’t really have any going out clothes, and I didn’t want to embarrass you, or myself.”

Huh? This shakes me out of my trance.

“One,” I say, standing, hating that she thinks she would embarrass me based on her wardrobe. “You could wear a burlap sack and look sexy as hell.”

She snorts. “You’re such a liar.”

“No, I’m not,” I tell her truthfully. “And whatever you want to wear is up to you. Nothing you put on would embarrass me.”