on Pinterest, and figured I could do something fairly similar myself.”
I was impressed. “That stuff is really cool. You could probably make money just doing that.”
He nodded. “Been thinking about it. But between salvaging, my tuning and engine repair clients, my real estate agent classes, and my own restoration projects, I haven’t really had time to work on that.”
“You do like to stay busy, don’t you?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah.” He looked around the room. “Well, you know where everything is.”
I laughed, gesturing at the open loft. “Yeah, it’s pretty obvious.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’m gonna putz around downstairs until your laundry is ready to go in the dryer.” He grinned at me. “I’ll do my best to not handle your panties.”
I faked an overly dramatic gagging sound. “God, eeew, don’t say that word. Fucking gross.”
“What, panties?”
I shook my head back and forth, pretending to be retching. “Stop! Stop saying that word! It’s forbidden!”
He laughed. “Okay. I won’t say…panties…again.” He cackled as I retched again. “So it’s just underwear, huh?”
“Some words are not meant to be uttered, and should be abolished. Like that one.”
“What others?”
“Moist.” I retched again. “The C-word, most of all. I hate that word. Unless you’re Australian, then it’s different.”
“The C-word?” He mused. “Oh. Cunt.”
“Don’t fucking say it! God, Rhys.”
He blew a raspberry. “Jeez, how are you even functioning on two hits? I’m clearly a disaster on one.”
I laughed. “Oh, I’m just buzzed. Maybe sometime I can get you well and truly stoned out of your gourd. That would be hysterical, if this is any indication.”
“I dunno. This is pretty nice, except for the fact that I keep saying offensive shit to you.”
I laughed. “Pro tip about me, I don’t really get offended, or at least not easily.”
“Oh good. I like you. I wouldn’t want to actually offend you.”
I blinked at his casual admission to liking me. Maybe he just meant it as liking me as one person platonically likes another, in a just-friends sort of way.
That’s probably all he meant.
“You never answered the question about masturbating.”
I laughed. “There was a question?”
“Yeah—do you?”
I laughed even harder. “If you’re trying to not offend me, asking me if I masturbate is a bad place to start.”
“True, but I did just admit I like you. And I do. And not just as friends. But I do want to be your friend. Only not just friends, because boobs.”
I pushed him toward the door. “Good night, Rhys. Thank you, more than I can say, for rescuing me today.”
He laughed as he walked away. “I’ve never been this talkative or inappropriate in my life. Not sure what’s come over me.”
“Apparently getting stoned seriously loosens your filter.”
I sat on the pull-out as he paused at the door, holding it open, one foot on the first step, looking at me. As if memorizing the way I looked, sitting in his loft.
I held that thought at bay, giving him a level look, hoping he didn’t see the curiosity and attraction pulsating through me. I was leaving tomorrow and didn’t need the complication of liking a really hot, nice, successful guy with huge strong grease-stained hands and stubble that I wanted to run my fingers over and feel scratching against my skin—
GAHH, no. No, Torie. Bad girl.
Don’t sleep with the first hot guy who gives you attention. That was the gist of what Lexie had said one time.
And it was good advice.
But if Lexie were me in this situation—single Lexie, not about to be married Lexie—she’d be all over this guy.
I was tempted to call her.
Maybe she could talk me down from this ledge.
Because I was on a hell of a ledge—and about to slip off. And if I slipped off, it’d be into bed with Rhys. Which, I reminded myself, was a very unwise idea. I did not need a distraction right now. I had to get to Alaska.
I had no business giving my virginity to a man I’d literally just met. No matter how hot, sexy, ripped, funny, successful, or kind he might be.
I mean, sure, a guy that was nice and kind and genuine, as well as gorgeous and sexy, was about as common as unicorns, and Rhys seemed to be all that and more.
And those were perfectly good reasons to have sex with him, right?
Wrong.
The fact that I wanted to climb on his lap and lick his stubble and get his hands on my body…that was reason to have sex with him.