Page 3 of Playing Mr. Perfect

“I’m trying to make a point,” I say exasperatedly, and turn back to Brindle. “Some of us keep our sexual escapades private, and some of us show up at events with our shirts on backward because we couldn’t keep our clothes on for an entire night.”

“That happened once,” Brindle says.

“More like twice,” Amber corrects her.

“I can think of three times,” Morgyn says. “Wait. Four. Remember two years ago at the Valentine’s Day Festival, and the year before that at the Turkey Trot?”

“Don’t forget the barn bash the summer after her first year of college,” Axsel said.

“Whatever,” Brindle says, and we all laugh. “Trace and I have a great sex life. I’m proud of that, and I want Pepper to be with a guy she can’t keep her hands off, too, so she doesn’t have to make up stories.”

“I was kidding, and my sex life is just fine, thank you very much. Why don’t you focus on Axsel? He’s single.” These three sisters are all happily married, and they’ve been on some kind of mission to couple me off since Sable got engaged to business mogul Kane Bad last year.

“Axsel isn’t sitting home alone at night,” Brindle explains.

“Neither am I.” Okay, I am, mostly. But that’s by choice. Dating is not all it’s cracked up to be, and it’s not like I’m sitting at home staring at a television. I left my corporate job to follow my heart and develop medical devices to help people with disabilities who can’t find relief through products that are currently on the market. That means working harder for less-profitable contracts, putting in more hours to run and market the business, and missing some outings and get-togethers. But at the end of the day, I’m helping others and changing lives, and that makes me happier than any man ever could. My sister knows this, and now I’m done with this conversation.

“Can we go, please?” I grab my room card and shove it into my pocket as I head out the door.

Amber hurries after me. “I’m with you on keeping it private, but I’m also with Brindle. I want you to find love, and I have a feeling you’re going to meet your match soon.”

“I think we all have that feeling,” Axsel chimes in.

“Did you guys start day drinking or something? You’re more annoying than usual.” I push the button for the elevator.

“Can’t you feel the magic in the air, Pep?” Morgyn looks up at the ceiling with a wide grin and throws her hands up. “The universe is finally on your side.”

I love Morgyn’s faith in the universe, but while she’s all about fate and love and all things mystical, as a scientist, I believe in facts, quantifiable evidence, and results. “Please tell the universe to mind its own business.”

Brindle nudges Morgyn. “How could you forget our practical sister doesn’t believe in magic?”

“Oh! Practical Magic! I love that movie,” Morgyn exclaims.

Axsel cocks a grin. “A young Aidan Quinn? Yes, please.”

I sigh as we step into the elevator. I’m not a big drinker, but I could sure use some wine right about now. “Actually, I do need the universe on my side tonight to give me the strength not to throttle the four of you.”

They laugh, and the elevator doors start closing, but a large hand shoots between them, and they open again, revealing six-plus feet of broad-chested, hard-bodied man and the insanely handsome face of Dash’s close friend Clay Braden. The man I’ve been trying to forget since Dash and Amber’s wedding. But forgetting him is impossible when he randomly shows up to see Dash and attends events in my hometown, then texts me afterward like it’s his right. I could kill Dash for giving him my number.

Clay’s mesmerizing blue eyes lock on me, and I swear they sear into my brain like lasers, making the neurons misfire. A slow grin slides into place, bringing out his dimples as he says, “Looks like the universe is on my side tonight.”

My stupid heart skips, and my thoughts turn on that confused organ. Do not go there or I’ll throttle you, too. I am not getting worked up over the man the media calls Mr. Perfect. Clay oozes charm like Amber exudes sweetness, as if it’s innate and he can’t help it. I don’t have to be on social media or follow football to know better. There are so many rumors about the pro-baller’s active personal life, they carry in the wind. He is a total player with an ego bigger than the football fields he plays on. He’s the farthest thing from my type that a man can be, and yet as my siblings greet him with enthusiastic Clays!, I can’t take my eyes off him in a leather bomber jacket that makes him seem bigger than life and probably cost as much as my monthly mortgage.

His megawatt smile glints beneath the harsh elevator lights as he steps inside, taking up far too much space. “Ladies. Axsel,” he says as the doors close behind him.

“I’m sorry you lost your playoff game, but I’m so glad you were able to join us,” Amber says, hugging him.

What? You knew he was coming?

“It sucks that we lost.” Clay’s gaze locks on me again as he says, “But it looks like my luck is changing. Nice to see you again, Pepper.”

“You, too.” The words are hard to get out, which is a strange occurrence for me. But so are most of the ways he makes me act and feel. Except for my smile. That comes naturally, because he is a beautiful man, and I don’t see many of them in my lab.

His eyes gleam arrogantly.

I realize I’m staring, and force my gaze away, looking straight ahead. But there’s no escaping our reflection in the shiny elevator doors, or his decadent scent, a mix of cedarwood and pure potent male, bringing a rush of hot, tingling awareness. Clay holds my gaze in our reflection as he shifts behind me, his chest brushing the back of my shoulder. The touch echoes in the seductive narrowing of his eyes, sending electric currents slithering through me like asps, and I wonder if anyone else feels flames licking up their skin.

“Is it hot in here?” I tug at the neckline of my shirt beneath my blazer.