Page 34 of The Mr. Right Checklist

He waves me off. “It’s okay. I’m good.”

“Come on, Ryry. Live a little.” I hold it up again.

He takes a sip and draws back, brows slanting. “Damn, that is sweet, and he wasn’t kidding about it being strong. What’s in it? Vodka, tequila, rum?”

He licks his lips, and I go right back to wanting to kiss him, remembering the hard press of his lips, the hungry swipe of his tongue. I don’t stop there. Suddenly I’m seeing him as he’s been in my dreams all week. Gloriously naked and—

“I think there’s gin in there, too,” he says, jerking me from my fantasy as he sets the glass down in front of me.

“Gin. Uh-huh.” I take a big gulp of the green goodness, trying to chase my lustful thoughts away. I should not be thinking about him naked.

“Better be careful, sunshine, or I’ll be carrying you to bed.”

I choke on his words, spewing my drink onto the front of his shirt and slacks, and cough as what’s left in my mouth goes down the wrong tube.

“Are you okay?”

Coughing and nodding, I manage, “Sorry . . .” I clear my throat, grab a napkin, and start wiping his shirt and slacks. “It went down the wrong tube. I’m sorry about your clothes.”

“It’s okay.” He grabs my wrist, stilling my hand.

“I’m trying to help.” I look up, and his tight expression has me glancing down at my hand, which is dangerously close to the bulge behind his zipper. “Oh, um . . . sorry?” I pull my hand back. “I wasn’t trying to . . . I was just . . .” I toss the napkin onto the bar and cover my face with my hands. “You can take me out back and shoot me now.”

He pulls my hands down, laughing softly. “Would you stop? That’s the most action I’ve gotten in six months.”

My jaw drops. “No way. Six months?”

He takes a drink without responding.

“You can’t just drop something like that and clam up. Don’t you date?”

His eyes narrow in that way that tells me he’s not going to answer.

“Please tell me you’re not the kind of guy who sleeps with women once and ghosts them.”

“I have more class than that.”

“Aha! Then you do date?”

“Casually. Nothing with any permanence.”

“Has it really been six months?”

“Maybe not that long, but probably close.”

“You should do a video on social media about that. It proves men’s you-know-whats don’t really fall off if you don’t use them. You’d probably go viral and save thousands of teenage girls from feeling anything but proud of themselves when boys use that line on them and they turn them down. Women all over the world would be thanking you, and lining up to go out with you. Not that you need more women after you.”

His brows lift with amusement. “That mind of yours is something, sunshine.”

“I don’t know about that, but I know there are several women in here who look like they would be happy to rectify your dry spell.” Including me, which is a problem.

“No thanks.”

“Come on, Fletch. You’re a great guy and good-looking for a blond.”

“Ouch.” He bumps me with his shoulder.

We both laugh, and I realize it’s things like that little shoulder bump that make me like him even more. But I know what I have to do to stop thinking about him that way. Fletch needs a girlfriend, because I’d never have dirty thoughts about another woman’s man.