40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,43

hedging her bets and pretending she might be there for a lesson instead of lovemaking made sense. Besides, if he really did intend to pursue a relationship with her, he should know she prioritized comfort over all else in her non-professional clothing. If he wanted a woman who’d squeeze herself into Spanx and put on spike heels for a normal night out, he needed to keep on looking.

Somewhere in her late thirties, her supply of fucks had become extremely limited. Some might even say nonexistent, except when it came to her work and her friends.

And, it appeared, Lucas. Because she did indeed give a fuck about how he saw her. Whether he wanted her. So she might have pulled on a comfy tee, but she’d made certain the garnet color flattered her skin and the vee neckline dipped low. Given how much he enjoyed her boobs, he’d appreciate the amount of cleavage it displayed.

Speaking of which…

She tugged the neckline a little lower as she neared the clubhouse, her heart skittering.

Once more, Lucas was waiting for her. This time with his head up and alert, not pointed at his toes. Once more, as soon as he spotted her, he jogged her way, eating up massive amounts of ground with each long stride.

No wonder he always looked so indolent. He only had to take a single step where a normal mortal might need three. His big body had exacted a price for that advantage, though, paid in pain and surgery and a disappointing end to a promising career.

He didn’t appear worried about any of that right now.

No, he was smiling at her. Not the facile grin of a flirt, but a beam that popped his dimples and warmed his eyes. When he got close, he immediately dipped his head for a gentle press of his lips against hers, brief and sweet.

“Hey, älskling.” His arms slid around her, and he cuddled her neck with that big, warm palm of his as his fingers laced into her hair, and she almost melted on the spot. “What do you want to do tonight?”

Älskling. Again.

Determining the correct spelling of that Swedish word had taken some time earlier that day—umlauts were not her friend—but she’d finally managed to locate the translation.

Darling. Honey. Or…beloved.

He’d asked her a question, but she couldn’t seem to form coherent words. “Uh…”

A touch of that flirty grin returned as he backed up a bare inch and looked down at her. “The tee says let’s play tennis, but the neckline of that tee…” He shook his head. “It says if I run toward a ball, I may experience another wardrobe malfunction.”

The teasing unlocked her tongue. “No fear. I wore my most sturdy sports bra tonight. It’s basically a straitjacket for my breasts, only more uncomfortable and with less opportunity for escape.”

He laughed. “Who said anything about fear? I’m half agony, half hope.” At her questioning look, he shrugged. “My coach was a Brit. She made us listen to Austen during long car trips. Sue me.”

She had to ask. “So what’s the hope?”

“Your breasts might be too powerful for containment.”

She couldn’t help a snicker. “So you’re praying they’ll break out of sports-bra jail at any moment and make their daring escape, and you’ll be around to witness the whole thing?”

“Can you elaborate a little? Add a few more details?” A faraway look had appeared in his eyes. “Maybe stage a dramatic reenactment of the event?”

“Perv.” She flicked his arm, ignoring his little yelp. “It can’t be a reenactment if it hasn’t happened yet. Anyway, what about the agony?”

“All those hooks, of course.” His smile faded a little. “And that undecided look on your face when you saw me just now. I figure you’re reconsidering our dinner tonight.”

Note to self: Don’t play poker with Lucas. Unless it’s strip poker and you want to flash the goods.

She wouldn’t lie to him. Even if she tried, it evidently wouldn’t work. So she told him the truth, flat out: “I have doubts. But I’m here, and I brought a change of clothing and a toothbrush in my bag.”

He stopped breathing. “Really?”

At her nod, that dimpled smile returned. Turned blinding with the sort of joy she hadn’t seen since a freak snowstorm caused an early dismissal from school the Friday before spring break. Rasheed Millman, a first-year teacher from the science department, had literally tackle-hugged her, and Frau Kauffman had almost mowed down several sophomores as she sprinted, cackling in Germanic glee, to the parking lot.

All students believed they loved