Smirking, he follows me down Westcott Lane. “Close. It’s Richard.” He hits me with a flirty wink that doubles the stupid smile I shouldn’t be wearing. “You can call me Dick if you’d like?”
I laugh like I have the world at my feet. “So that’s how you operate? I just call you up, and you’ll bring dick right on over.” Oh. My. God. Who the hell am I? I’ve never openly flirted like this before, much less with a man as sinfully hot as Maddox Walsh. “Not that I want your dick or anything.”
Shut up, Demi. You’re a sinking ship. Drown in peace.
“We’ll see,” Maddox mutters while jerking his chin to the left. “I’ve heard good things about this place, shall we test it out?”
“I’m good.”
I’ve craved a normal existence for over a decade. Dining in my hometown with any man won’t bring me close to the simplistic lifestyle I’m still hoping to achieve one day, but dining with Maddox would upend my plans entirely.
I make it two steps away from the Latin restaurant Maddox nudged his head at before an arm bands around my waist, and I’m yanked back. I don’t put up a fight. What sane girl would? One of the most eligible bachelors this side of the country has his extremely fit body plastered against mine. Not only does it feel as wondrous as it looks, I’ve been dreaming about it being pressed against me since before I got my period.
“Let me try that again. I’ve heard good things about this place. Let’s test it out.” Maddox walks us into the restaurant like it’s perfectly normal to carry a grown woman around as if she’s a child. “A table for two, please. Far in the back. My girl gets randy when her tastebuds are on fire.” Imagine a pro-wrestler being announced on fight night, then you’ll have an indication of how dramatic Maddox’s voice is during the last half of his statement.
Ignoring the plea on my face that she declare the restaurant is fully booked, the maître d peers at me as if I’m the luckiest girl on the planet before she plucks two menus from her podium, then gestures for Maddox to follow her.
“I can walk,” I stammer out, not only embarrassed several eyes in the capacity-filled restaurant sling my way but still foraging a way to hatch an escape. “You just witnessed that for five blocks.”
“Eh,” Maddox immediately fires back, his grunt rumbling through both our chests. “I either walk you through then apologize profusely for your embarrassment during lunch, or fight off a pack of hungry middle-aged women without a taser.” He peers down at me and grins. It sets my heart racing. “I left it in my bag at the gym.”
When confusion pops a crinkle between my brows, Maddox rocks his hips forward. I stiffen like a board when I discover the reason he’s using my body for coverage. He’s hard. I’m not talking Robert Flint’s reaction to our first kiss without his braces in the eleventh grade hard. I’m talking the type of stiffness a movie star would leak his dick pic on purpose hard.
The fact my closeness instigates such a fierce response out of Maddox should turn my brain to mush. Alas, you can’t give up the opportunity of getting one up on your crush because of a little stiffness.
I really shouldn’t say little, but you get what I mean.
“Was it calling me a man’s name that got you turned on? Or the idea of dressing up like a woman?”
The longer silence stretches between us, the bigger my grin becomes. I, along with every other girl in the grades each side of mine, had massive crushes on the Walsh brothers throughout high school. They look similar, but they all have unique traits. Maddox’s hair is more a reddish-blond than straight-up blond like Saint’s. Landon’s is burnt orange like their little sister, Justine, and Caidyn’s is brown. Maddox’s blue eyes have a tinge of green to them when he’s moody, and unlike two out of three of his brothers, he doesn’t hate the freckles dotted across his pasty white skin.
Despite having the fairest skin of them all, Caidyn skipped the freckle gene. I’m kind of disappointed for him. There’s something insanely sexy about a freckle treasure hunt. Who knows where the search will take you?
“There’s that sweet scent again that’s got me in all types of trouble,” Maddox murmurs under his breath when a shiver of excitement dashes down my spine. “At this rate, you’ll have to sit on my lap while we eat.”
I snatch up a used napkin from one of the tables we’re veering past before tossing it into Maddox’s face. “How about you mop up the mess in your pants, then we can sit down and enjoy our meal?”
He throws his head back and laughs. I really wish he wouldn’t. The vibration alone has me on the verge of climax. “If you think I’m already done, I clearly have my work cut out for me this weekend.”
Weekend?
I’m saved from requesting a towelette for my suddenly drenched face when we arrive at the table the maître d has assigned to us. Unlike the many dining options surrounding us, our table isn’t a booth, meaning Maddox has no choice but to set me onto my feet. It presents the perfect opportunity for me to flee, but since we’re at the very back of the restaurant, far from prying eyes, my feet refuse to answer the prompts of my brain—and perhaps my heart. It seems to rule the roost when it comes to anyone in the Walsh clan.
“Killjoy,” Maddox whispers to the maître d, winking when she grins ear-to-ear about the mirth in his tone.
I plop into my seat before covering my flaming-with-anger face with the menu. “Is she a friend of yours?”
It’s Mood Swing City here today. One minute I’m telling him to back off, and the next minute I’m wondering how true claims are that you can kill someone with a fork.
“Depends,” Maddox replies, taking my anger in stride like it’s no big deal.
He probably handles neurotic, jealous women every day. They throw themselves at him all the time. The fact I expected to be treated differently shows how stupid I am, and I’m not solely referencing accepting his invitation for lunch, either.
“Do you class Dimitri as your friend? Or do cousins not get the friend title?”
Shit.
“The maître d is your cousin?” The chirpy, she-needs-to-be-admitted-stalker, Demi is back. “That’s nice.”
When I sink low in my chair so the menu can cover my face, Maddox’s laugh rumbles through the gilded cardboard a mere second before he plucks it out of my hand. “No hiding on me, Demi. I’ve been waiting for this day for years.”
Years?
I begin to wonder if I said my query out loud when Maddox mumbles, “This whole time I thought you were looking at Saint. It was only when your eyes remained glued to my half of the gym during his prowl did I realize I was wrong.”
The pride in his eyes almost knocks me on my ass, but it won’t stop me from saying, “I wasn’t looking at you.”
I’m a woeful liar, and Maddox is more than happy to call me out on it. “Stalking. Eyeballing. Fucking me with your eyes. Whatever you want to call it. You were totally doing it.”
“I wasn’t fucking you with my eyes.” I totally was. “I was admiring your technique.” With our conversation heading in a direction I never anticipated, my next set of words come out with an edge of caution. “My uncle boards a local fighting chapter.” That made it sound like a legitimate organization. Don’t let me pull the wool over your eyes. “Sometimes he asks me to keep an eye on the competition for him.”