Page 5 of Blush Crush

“Yeah.” He nods. “That’s kind of old for you.”

My head rears back. “I’m twenty-three, so no, he’s not too old.”

Cole blows out a whistle. “Shit, never mind. You’re practically an old maid.”

I can’t help but laugh. This is usually how our conversations go. He annoys me, and then says something to cut through my annoyance just enough to get me to laugh.

“I’m gonna go back out there. Poor Sadie is probably waiting for me so she can clock out.”

He nods once, an odd expression on his face. “Be careful with grandpa out there. Sometimes those intellectual types are just better at hiding how full of shit they are.”

My lips purse. I’m not sure when everyone decided I’m someone who constantly needs advice. I’m a grown woman and a business owner. God forbid I prefer men with fully developed frontal lobes. I can’t help that guys my age are objectively terrible, and I’ve always been drawn to men a little older than me. Maybe it’s no coincidence that I’ve also always had a habit of wanting things that are just out of reach.

It’s easier to dream about the impossible than risk failing at something real.

“You sound like my brothers. They’re always trying to protect me and treat me like I’m still a little girl.”

His gaze holds mine. “I’m nothing like your brothers. I’m offended that you think so. I’m not trying to protect you. I’m just telling you how it is. Do what you want with that.”

“Well, you can save the advice. Someone like him would never be interested in me.”

Something in his expression tightens. “Is he interested in men? Married? In a serious relationship?”

I shake my head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Then he’s interested.”

My eyes sharpen. “Not every man’s type is vagina. Some men want a little something more.”

“Yeah, we like tits too.” He raises a brow before flicking his eyes briefly to the spot where my cleavage would be if my shirt showed any, as if to prove his point.

Instinctively, my arms cross over my chest.

“He’s a gentleman. He’s well-read. He’s in touch with his emotions. He’s not like that.”

Though I’ve barely had a conversation with Wesley, all his published work is readily available online. A man who writes poetry like he does is not some heathen who adds notches to his belt. He’s different.

Cole encroaches on me, breaking past my bubble of comfort and infiltrating my senses with his cologne. I might like it if the scent were wafting off someone else. It’s warm and spicy, and just sweet enough to leave me feeling dizzy. He’s so close I catch whiffs of chocolate on his breath, the hints of tangy-sour clinging to his skin—the unmistakable scent of winemaking.

“You’re not seriously going to fall for that shit, are you?” he says. “I don’t care how many tailored sweaters the guy owns. Deep down, he’s a dog like the rest of us. Don’t let the pedigree fool you.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a male voice says, and both Cole and I whip our heads around as I jump back a step.

It’s Professor Hampton.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” I say brightly. Too brightly. “Cole was just leaving.”

I nudge my head at Cole so he’ll beat it, and either he can’t read my obvious signal or he’s ignoring it.

Cole sets down the box of croissants and claps the crumbs off his hands before extending one out to Wesley. “Cole Benton. I own the building.”

“Wesley Hampton,” he says as he shakes Cole’s hand before turning back to me. “We’re having some issues with the speakers and I was hoping you might have the magic touch.”

“Yeah.” The word comes out as a choke-laugh-breath I didn’t even know a human could make. My skin prickles, heat sweeping over me in a humiliating wave. If my heart were beating any harder, it would launch straight out of my throat. Cole shoots me a look like he heard the unhinged sound I just made and is two seconds from laughing.

Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I be cool and sexy and capable of basic human functioning around this man? He probably thinks I have some kind of condition.

“I’ll be right out,” I manage to squeak out.