Page 3 of Scoring Eden

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first woman to trip over themselves in my presence, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

“Excuse me?”

He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants and shrugs. “I’m just saying, it isn’t a new occurrence for me, so there’s no need to be embarrassed. If anything, it’s flattering.”

I point to my injured eye. “You think this happened because I was tripping over myself in your presence?”

His lips twitch. “Is that not what happened?”

“Not for the reason you’re implying.”

“Oh?” There’s that fucking smirk again, dripping with arrogance in a way so aggravatingly attractive that it makes me want to crush another pen. “What is it I’m implying?”

I ignore the question. “You caught me by surprise at a bad time.”

“So, you weren’t checking me out before?”

“Of course not.” It’s a lie. I know it’s a lie. He knows it’s a lie.

“Huh.” He runs a large hand down his chest. “I must have had something on my shirt, then…and my arms…and my pants. Weird, must be gone now.”

Huffing, I drop the towel from my eye and roll my shoulders back. “I should get you checked in.”

“It’s probably safer for us both if you do.”

Opening up the sign-in software, I make a point to keep my eyes fixed on the screen. “Name?”

It’s in front of me, glaring from the schedule on my computer, but I’ve already put two and two together and figured he must be the celebrity Anderson told me to expect, and clearly, the man needs humbling.

The pause that follows belays his surprise. “Alex.”

“Last name?”

“Wolfe.”

Would it be a step too far to ask him for ID?

“Very well, Mr. Wolfe. The system says you’re here for a check-up?”

“Yep. Toothache.”

I tut. “That’s what happens when you eat too many sweet things.”

Damn it, I did not mean for that to sound dirty.

I catch a glimpse of him silently chuckling. His eyes sweep over me, not lecherously, but not innocently either, and my traitorous body ignites in goosebumps under the heat of them. “Something like that.”

I get the terrible sense he’s flirting with me—not that I’m skilled in determining the romantic intentions of men. It’s not as if there’s been much opportunity over the past ten years to practice. Solo parenting an adorable, yet overzealous child has left me wildly unprepared for such things, particularly when it comes to those who are famous and look like they should model underwear for high-end designer brands.

Who am I kidding? A man like that would never flirt with me.

Chastened by the thought, I slide a clipboard toward him with a tight smile, aiming for the utmost professionalism. “Fill out those and bring them back to my desk when you’re done.”

His eyebrows lift, and he sucks his lips between his teeth as if to suppress a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

I fixate my gaze on the flickering cursor on my screen and try to ignore the distracting presence of the man now reclined on the Chesterfield. The scratching of pen on paper and my still-labored breaths are the only sounds between us. That is, until the door opens and Anderson steps in to ruin whatever modicum of peace I’ve been able to cling to.

“Mr. Wolfe,” he gushes, sprinting to Alex’s side with his hand outstretched. “It’s an honor that you’ve chosen my practice. The team is so excited to have you here.”