I waved my hand flippantly, dismissing her observant—and irritatingly correct—assumption. There was no way I was going to tell her about Garrett, my rude but hunky as hell wall neighbor. “It was just an example.”
“A very precise one. What an imagination you must have.” She wiggled her brows. “I suppose when the only thing getting you off is your hand and imagination, you have no choice but to get good at—” She ducked, cackling and dodging my attempt to smack her.
I shook my head, laughing despite myself. It was true, it’d been years since anyone other than myself had touched me. I didn’t usually mind, but there were definitely days when I craved the feel of a man’s hands sliding across my skin, the brush of lips along my neck, and the eruption of butterflies during a breathtaking kiss.
But I didn’t let those days trick me into thinking I needed a man. I didn’t. Jamie and I were scraping by just fine, and as much as Layla liked to joke, my hand and imagination worked a hell of a lot better than any man ever had.
“Teasing aside, Mads, do you really have no interest in dating again?”
“I don’t know. Relationships take time, and I don’t have that to give to someone right now. Not to mention, unless I meet a guy at the grocery checkout who isn’t sneering at my EBT card, or some nice single dad enrolls his child in Jamie’s class, I don’t go anywhere to meet someone.”
She tipped her head back, pondering that. “What about online dating? That’s how I met Sam,” she said, referring to her ex-boyfriend.
She suddenly sat up, growing more excited as she worked through her thoughts aloud. “Actually, it’s perfect for you. You can post the truth about your situation so only those who don’t care will contact you, and then you can weed them out from there.”
“I don’t think men our age use those sites. They just pick up women downtown near the college.”
“Which is why you need to look for an older man.”
My mind instantly flickered to Garrett, like a string had yanked on my thoughts and plopped me at his feet. I shook the image of his chiseled features and muscled biceps away, busying myself with brushing kernel pieces off my lap.
“Can I put ‘looking for sugar daddy’ in my bio?”
She spread her hands out in the air, mimicking a banner, “Must have a big dick and deep pockets.”
I drained the last of my wine. “If I can’t fit inside his pockets, I don’t want him.” We tried to keep straight faces, but failed, erupting into laughter.
“And they said romance was dead.”
I froze at the sound of that voice. A familiar rasp that rumbled through the air and danced across my skin. Leaning forward to see past the side railing of the porch, my eyes latched onto the arresting, damn near haunting, view of its owner.
Cast mostly in shadow, with the porch light illuminating his face like a beacon, Garrett stood a foot away from the railing, staring right at me. His hands were tucked into his pockets, the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, and a cigarette was perched between his lips.
He looked untouchable. Unattainable. The kind of man your mama warned you about, but the kind you’d willingly crawl on your hands and knees for anyway. He was dressed in only a plain white shirt and black sweats; his feet bare on the cement. It was obvious he hadn’t planned on coming over. He’d likely just stepped outside for a quick smoke when he overheard our immature conversation.
I was struck speechless, but Layla didn’t miss a beat. “There’s nothing wrong with telling someone what you’re after up front. Honesty is always the best way to begin a relationship, wouldn’t you say…？” She stretched out the last word, holding her hand out and tilting her head in an obvious indication she was waiting for his name.
He didn’t give it to her.