Page 73 of Hot Mess
As I said that, his gaze wandered down to my nipples. Not that he could see my nipples through my dress and pushup bra; I was sure of that. But yeah, that was exactly where he looked.
A full-body shiver of arousal ran through me.
Holyhell.
I just hoped he couldn’tseethe way my body reacted to him. I was kinda terrified, actually, of what I might do if he seriously came on to me or something. He’d flirted with me over text, for sure. He’d basically told me he wanted to fuck me. In response, I’d told him I wanted to keep things professional.
But how did I know he’d adhere to that?
How did I knowI’dadhere to that?
“So,” I went on, clearing my throat, “if we move the TV over there, we can mount it on the wall, clear up more floor space and open the curtains.” I opened the curtains to demonstrate. When I turned back to him, I definitely caught him checking out my ass.
My pulse was already going haywire as I tried to ignore what my body couldn’t seem to deny.He’s totally checking me out.
“You can sit there,” I went on, “and enjoy the view and watch TV at the same time, and you won’t get glare on the TV screen because of the angle.”
He said nothing, but his gaze had at least returned to my face.
“Now, about the couch. If you’re open to a change, I’m proposing white leather. It may not surprise you to hear that I see these overstuffed, oversized black leather coaches in almost every single dude’s home I enter. However, you’re not every single dude, are you? You’re Ashley Player. You have style.”
He cocked his sexy eyebrow at me, and my knees almost buckled. I’d always had a weak spot for a hot dude with a pierced eyebrow. I’d never actually been with one before, though.
Definite bucket list item.
Shit.Ashley Player ticked off so many items on my verydirtiestbucket list, it was ridiculous. I didn’t even want to think about it.
At least, right now I didn’t.
I’d think about it later, alone, in the shower or something.
“So… um, you go with white leather,” I said, moving to show him my tablet and trying not to stare at all his sexiness. “But in this more minimalist, modern style.”
I showed him the couch I’d found for him. I used Pinterest at the consultation stage because it was so easy, even though it made Madeleine cringe. She said it was “unprofessional,” but I found my clients usually liked it; we could share boards and so easily share ideas and reference images.
“Metal legs lift it up off the floor,” I explained. “It’s more sleek and light. You can move it around if you need to, plus the back folds right down. You still get your leather, but it takes up less floor space and even accommodates more butts in seats if you’re having a party. I’d recommend this one, with one matching chair and two ottomans that provide extra seating and storage inside, and again, can be moved around the coffee table as needed.”
“See, when you keep saying coffee table,” he said, his voice all low and too close to my ear, “I think of grandmas and those doily things.”
“How about this instead?” I scrolled to the image of the somewhat industrial-looking metal table I’d found, which would be perfect for his space—and angled the screen toward him, even as I subtly shifted myself farther away from him. “I’d pair it with these metal barstools along the bar.” I showed him the barstools, from a local designer I loved. “For the dining table I recommend glass, to keep the light flowing through from the low windows. An oval design would fit best in the space. For the base we can go with metal or wood. I’ve got several for you to choose from, but something really chunky with some weight to it would be great.” I scrolled to the chairs next; upholstered dining chairs in gunmetal gray. “And these chairs in a few different styles, that we can mix and match for some textural interest.”
Okay, I was impressing him. I could feel it. He’d gone from looking at my boobs to actually listening to what I was saying.
Though he was still standing too close to me.
Way too close.
I moved to set the tablet on the kitchen bar, then went over to the single piece of art on his wall, the framed band poster above the couch. “We haven’t talked about this. ‘Random Attack’?” I quirked an eyebrow at the cheesy, violent name. “I did a quick search for them online, but couldn’t find anything. Who are they?”
“Theyweremy first real band. Term used loosely. And you won’t find them online. That was a promo poster we did.”
I studied it, but I really couldn’t recognize the lead singer. It could’ve been Ashley. He was screaming into a mic, and the band was obviously onstage, but the image was purposefully, artfully blurry and kind of abstract.
“I took a photo of it when I was here,” I told him, “and when I went through all the notes I’d made and all the photos I’d taken, I just kept coming back to this. It’s the only thing you have up on the wall, and you spent a good deal of money on the framing. Why is that?”
He shrugged. “I always liked the poster.”
“But you’ve been in other bands since then. Was this band really good?”
