Page 30 of Sweet Distraction

“Not much to tell, really. He was only here for like an hour max.”

“And that’s one hour more than I’ll ever have or will. One hour more than I have to make the qualified decision of his certifiable hotness. Like, is he simply just hot-HOT or is he more the totally and completely fuckably hot-HOT.”

“Jesus.” I know he’s not home, but I glance around the great room as her voice carries through the empty space.

Leave it to Lily to lay that question out there.

And to force me to think about something I probably haven’t wanted to admit to myself.

“He’s . . .” Sexy. Even better in person. Attractive. “Yeah. He’s hot.”

“Willow. I need more,” she whines playfully.

“What do you want me to say? That he’s totally and completely fuckably hot-HOT?” I whisper and play along. “Like dangerously hot. Leather pants, tattoos, lean-muscle, man-who’s-lived-some-shit hot?”

Lily’s eyes go wide. “Well, hell. Now I’m gonna need to get my vibrator out and picture him all the while. Wait.” She narrows her eyes. “Your text said you thought your new boss was emotionally constipated though.”

“Oh, he is. Fully. Emotionally unavailable, defensive, occasionally charming in a what happened in your childhood kind of way—”

“So then he’s perfectly your type? Too fucked up to get attached but hot enough to have some good, dirty fun with.”

I snort and rest my elbows on the counter so that I can stare straight into the phone. “Nope. Nope. And oh, nope. He’s my boss, Lil. Even having this conversation makes me feel like I’m breaking all kinds of ethical boundaries.”

“God forbid you break a rule now and again.”

“I’m here for Poppy—first and foremost—not for—”

“And still, it’s crossed your mind at least once since you got there.”

“Changing subjects,” I say.

Lily gasps and points at the screen. “You’re so full of shit. You only say that when you want to avoid reality. You so want to climb that man like a tree.”

“Lily. Stop. That’s en—”

A floorboard creaks.

I jump, heart hammering in my chest, and whip my head toward the opposite side of the kitchen.

To right where Rocket is standing. Shirtless. In the dark. Looking like the fuckably-HOT rock god he actually is with a glass in his hand and a bemused expression that says he heard everything.

Oh. My. God.

I reach for my phone and fumble it in a desperate attempt to hang up on Lily.

“Willow? You still there—”

I successfully end the call and shut her up.

But now I’m faced with something way more embarrassing. Way more . . . real.

Did he hear me say that? Fuckably-HOT?

Dying now would be a much better option than meeting his eyes.

I give myself a few seconds, but when I finally look up again, Rocket’s watching me with an unreadable expression. His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. At least there’s that.

If there were a hole to crawl into right now, I’d be the first one to dive headfirst into it.