Page 3 of Turn Me On
Vance laughs. “Here’s the deal,” he begins. But his phone interrupts with a Stone Zenith tune. He waggles the device at me. “That’s Brea. Gotta say goodnight to the wife and kids. You go upstairs to Sushi Ko, and I’ll be there shortly. Get a drink on me.”
I scoff. “As if it’d be anything but on you.”
But it’s a damn good idea—a drink and a couple of minutes to shake off this lingering tension and put on my game face for dinner.
In the elevator, I punch the button for the restaurant in the sky. As I climb, I undo the cuffs on my dress shirt, then roll them up once, twice. I’ve never met a night that wasn’t improved with a little forearm reveal.
The elevator delivers me to the twentieth floor, and I make my way to the elegant sushi spot then head straight for the bar, where I order a scotch.
“Coming right up,” the bartender says.
As he grabs a bottle, I check out the crowd and…hello.
The sexiest suit I’ve seen in ages sits next to me, wearing a silk burgundy tie. I have such a thing for a sharp-dressed man, and nothing sayssee you laterto work woes like flirting with a hot-ass guy.
Deals can take a timeout for a few more minutes. My dick’s at bat.
2
A COCKTAIL BET
Zane
I don’t fuck around when assessing the potential of a smoke show. Best to know the score right away.
“Nice tie,” I say.
No,nice tieisn’t a secret gay handshake, but it’s an innocuous opening. If he’s straight, he’ll mutter thanks and avoid eye contact.
But the guy next to me takes a beat, his deep whiskey eyes meeting mine, his lips curving in a slight grin.
That’s a good start.
He runs a strong hand down the material, then fingers the end of the fabric. “Glad you like it,” he says, in a smooth, silky voice.
“I do,” I say, and that answer is as promising as his body language.
“Good to know,” the man says as he drinks me in even deeper.
Ding, ding, ding. We have a team player. No straight dude is going to check me out like this man.
His gaze takes a scenic tour of my body. He’s shameless in his travels, covering my whole damn frame before he returns to my face, lingering on my mouth.
I get in on the ogling and spend a moment cataloging him, from the wavy brown hair I want to rope my fingers through, to the chiseled, clean-cut jaw I’d like to sweep my mouth across, and to the fine white shirt that ripples just tightly enough along his biceps. Yep, I think I’ll rip it off him.
I return to those bedroom eyes, which are dark and dreamy and definitely dirty. Curious too—his eyes pause at my forearm, studying the small tattoo on my right wrist.
Icouldwait for him to ask about my ink, but I’m a take-charge kind of guy. “It’s a cocktail. In case you were wondering.”
He smirks. “Did you think I was? Wondering?”
“Yes,” I say, letting him know what he’s getting into if he wants to take this flirtation a little further.
Or a lot further.
Endorsement deals might befuddle me, but hot men do not.
The man shrugs a strong shoulder. “You caught me, then.”