Ten more scandalized people and a seventy-something security guard who shot me a wink later, there I was—on my knees, holding my dress to my chest with one hand and using two twigs I’d broken off a shrub to dig the pin out of a crack in the steps like a game of Operation. It was a worthless effort. The damn pin might as well have entered the witness protection program, never to see the light of day again.
Okay. Plan B. When Aaron got back, I’d ask him for his suit coat. I’d have to button it closed and I’d look absolutely ridiculous, but at least we wouldn’t be late.
Careful not to give the dwindling line of spectators another show, I crisscrossed my arms over my chest and stood to my full height. My one remaining strap slipped off my shoulder and I swung my elbow up to keep it from falling down my arm.
Business as usual in the cursed dress from hell.
Except for the fact that pain exploded in my elbow.
“Ow!” I exclaimed at the same time I heard someone rumble, “Shit.”
Grabbing my elbow, I spun and found a man on the stair below me using both hands to cover his nose. And because I needed to seriously work on respecting personal boundaries, I lurched toward him, stacking a hand over his as if three hands covering his injury were the medically recommended amount.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
“Son of a…” he trailed off when he opened his eyes.
Holy shit. The most gorgeous golden-brown eyes I’d ever seen collided with mine. And I don’t mean that our eyes simply met. I mean, they met and locked and I somehow ended up pregnant in the span of one blink.
Fantastic. He was gorgeous, and I’d potentially broken his nose, wrecking a perfect profile.
“Are you okay?” I asked. He was tall, but I was on the step above him, so we were almost level and only inches apart—the perfect missionary position for a mutual eye-fuck. Except, based on his furrowed brows, this was a solo act.
“Shit,” he repeated, clearing his throat and backing down a step, out of my reach. As he lowered his hands, my breath caught. He had full lips, and even hidden beneath a closely trimmed beard, I could make out a sharp jawline. His nose though…
“You’re bleeding.”
“What?” He immediately rubbed above his upper lip, effectively spreading the small drop of crimson across his cheek.
I squeaked and bit my bottom lip. “You, uh, smeared it. Hold on. I think I have a tissue—” The words died on my tongue when Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome reached into his front breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
No, really. A handkerchief.
He dabbed at his nose, cursing when he saw the bright red on the clean white linen.
Unsure what the proper protocol was after accidentally assaulting a man, I opted for a round of apologies. “I’m so sorry. Are you headed inside? Maybe I can find you some ice?” I twisted my lips and glanced around, wondering if my security guard admirer had access to a break room.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Jesus.” He diverted his gaze over my shoulder. “Your dress…broke.”
I grabbed the forgotten strap and did the best I could to cover my chest. “For the record, you should know that this dress is haunted. You may have inadvertently touched it when I hit you, so my recommendation would be to use a generous amount of hand sanitizer and potentially a sage aura cleansing at your earliest convenience.”
For several beats, he blinked at nothingness behind me, his long, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. Just when I started to worry that I might have given him a concussion, he muttered, “Sage. Right.” He roughly shoved the bloodied handkerchief into his pocket before retrieving his wallet. Using one long finger, he dug around in a small pocket in the front of his brown leather bifold then extended a silver safety pin toward me. The good, sturdy kind—not like the cowardly one hiding in the cracks at our feet.
I grinned. “Well, aren’t you prepared for everything. First a handkerchief, now a secret safety pin? What else are you hiding in that suit?”
Yes. I was flirting. He might have been dry, stoic, and probably completely uninterested. But he was gorgeous, appeared to be around thirty, and wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. That was the trifecta of my type.
His brows drew together, but his gaze never came back to mine.
Not as he jerked his chin in a silent goodbye.
Not as he turned on a toe and took the rest of the stairs two at a time.
Not even as I yelled at his back, “Thank you! Sorry again about your nose!”
And it was a real shame because his backside was just as gorgeous as his front.
“Holy shit,” I mumbled.
