have a dinner reservation at a sushi place.”
“Why would you go eat raw fish by yourself when you could call up your Hot Navy Dude and ask if he wants to have you for dinner?”
“You are so gross, Maggie. I would never say that to anyone.”
“If you don’t ask, they won’t do it!” she said. “Trust me. I know guys. They think giving them head should make you come like a porn star. It’s bullshit. They’re all ego. But ask for what you want. It’s the only way to get it.”
“You’re wise but still gross,” I told her.
The sushi place was good. Tiny and crowded, nowhere near the tourist areas, but the octopus was amazing and fresh. The problem was, Maggie was right. Not about asking Billy to go down on me, but about going after what I wanted. I did that in my career. I was planning and preparing for the job of my dreams, my own travel blog. I didn’t want a relationship, but I sure as hell wanted some no-strings-attached sex with a certain Irish hottie.
I wanted the taste of him in my mouth and the weight of him on top of me. Ever since I saw him on the beach unexpectedly and the sheer physical power of him, that huge, muscular body had practically slapped me in the vagina with his sexiness, he was all I thought about.
There was no concentrating on my article unless you counted scrolling through the photos I’d taken of him and zooming in to get a closer look at his tattoo. He only had one that I had seen. It wrapped around his left shoulder and bicep, all sinuous dark lines and twisting shapes. I couldn’t figure out what it was. A tribal symbol? Some depiction of the muscles and tendons beneath his skin? From one angle, it looked like there were thorns, but in another picture, it looked like it had flared corners. I hadn’t gotten a picture of the whole tattoo, so I was frustrating myself trying to imagine what was there and what it meant to him. And whether he’d let me trace the outline of it with the tip of my tongue if I asked nicely.
I was a hot mess over this guy. I needed to do something about it—either let myself have a little treat on my working vacation or let it go. Because obsessing over a man was not my style.
Instead of a messy bun and bare face, I put on waterproof mascara and some tinted lip balm with SPF. I did my hair in a ridiculous half-up style that looked alluring but was supposed to survive in humidity. I’d look straggly in less than an hour probably, so I put a hair tie on my wrist for when I gave up on looking sexy. My shorts and tank top, my crossbody bag with sunscreen, a bottle of water, my phone, cash and room key and my hiking boots weren’t exactly high fashion, but I had nice legs and I knew enough to dress practically for a long hike. I took a car to the spot where we’d agreed to meet. Billy was waiting for me there. All unkempt hair and sharp green eyes that missed nothing, the easy charm of a practiced flirt, and the body of a demi-god. He was even bigger and more powerful looking than I remembered. He had steely determination beneath his playboy exterior. I didn’t know if he had a heart of gold, but I’d be willing to bet he had a will of iron and a dick to match.
“Hop in and I’ll drive us up to the trailhead,” he said.
I got in his Jeep and we went off-road up some rugged terrain and he parked at what seemed like an impossible angle.
“Wait for me to come around and give you a hand,” he said. “The angle is a little tricky to get out of the Jeep.”
I waited, thinking if I’d put that part in my article, the part where he was considerate and protective. Did I want to keep that to myself like it was something private? That was too much like pretending there was anything between us, so I decided to write about it if the article needed it. He held out his hand to me, and I took it. I stepped out onto the rocky ground and I felt unsteady. Not because of having trouble with my footing but because my heart was stuttering around in