by Lisa Suzanne
I stumble backward, drop my purse, and feel arms come around my elbows to help steady me.
It wasn’t a wall, after all. It was a man. A man in a suit who looks crisp and fresh and hot as hell and why the fuck is the universe against me today?
“Are you okay?” His voice is deep and husky and full of concern. His big hands are still on my arms, and I brush them off after my eyes catch on his long fingers and sexy veins.
I dash the tears away again and force myself to look at the man who is gazing at me with bright green eyes. His lustrous, nearly black hair is brushed up and away from his forehead, parted to the side, which tells me he cares about his appearance, but the dark stubble lining his jaw tells me he’s all man.
I glance down and see that the contents of my purse have emptied all over the tiled floor. Eyeshadow is bouncing its way across the small hallway housing six elevators, lip gloss has rolled nearly in front of the furthest elevator, random change and gum wrappers are everywhere. I need to clean out my goddamn purse.
A couple walks into the hallway and pushes the button to call an elevator as they glance at the mess—and, subsequently, me—with disdain.
Fuck you! You could help us here instead of looking at me like you’re better than me! Haven’t you ever had a bad morning? Haven’t you ever dropped anything? Haven’t you ever walked out of a rock god’s penthouse suite without leaving your number behind?
My good manners keep those thoughts in my head. Instead, I ignore them and stare at all the shit I keep in my purse scattered all over the floor, and that’s when I remember last night when Jill and I left the house we share, it wasn’t bright enough to warrant sunglasses. I realize too late they’re sitting in the cup holder in my car.
“Dammit,” I mutter to myself as I close my eyes, willing the tears to stop falling. “I’m sorry,” I say to the man as the unhelpful couple steps onto one of the elevators.
“Are you okay?” he asks again.
I lift a shoulder and try breathing in through my nose. “I’m fine.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” he says, bending down to help retrieve all my shit so I can dump it back into my purse. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m fine,” I repeat.
He hands me some change and a bottle of lotion, which I toss into my purse, and I pick up my phone. I grab last night’s concert ticket—signed by Mark Ashton, of course—and he picks up the shirt I was wearing before I changed into the shirt I bought at the show, the one I’m wearing now.
Then, to my utter and complete mortification, the man hands me a tampon and a condom.
Seriously? The two most embarrassing items in my purse were lucky enough to fall out right next to each other? Fuck my life and everything in it.
My cheeks burn as I glance up at him. He’s looking at me with a cocky smile, and I feel the threat of tears again. I won’t cry in front of this handsome stranger. Well, I won’t cry again in front of this handsome stranger.
I hear my phone’s text notification. The morning can’t get any more embarrassing as he continues to gather and hand me more of my crap.
Jill: Hope you’re still banging Mark Ashton. Can’t wait to hear all about it. I’m heading home. Your car is still at Mandalay but I checked out. Have fun and be safe.
I glance around and spot my car keys on the floor in front of me. At least one thing is going right this morning—at least I didn’t leave my keys at the hotel with Jill. I almost yell out in triumph, but I manage to restrain myself.
“Let me buy you a coffee,” the man says once we’ve gathered all my stuff and the floor is pristine once again.
I nearly ask if it’s because of the condom, but I stop the words before they leave my lips. A girl who carries condoms in her purse must put out, right? Ugh. “No, thank you,” I say instead.
He glances at his watch. “Please. It’s the least I can do.” His green eyes penetrate me, pinning me to the spot. He’s so assured standing there, so confident.
So handsome.
I think about giving in. I think about saying yes.
But I’m on my way out from another man’s bed after a one-night stand. Having a morning coffee date with a stranger just seems like a bad idea on top of an already shit morning.
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