Page 24 of Money Shot

“Two,” he said to the young girl at the reception desk.

“Summer will help you,” she said as she motioned toward a girl with dreadlocks who stood beside her.

“Follow me,” Summer said cheerily.

“After you,” Vince said as he pointed toward the bouncing locks of filth in front of us.

Of all people, I believed I was truly a fan of individuality and expression of one’s true self. I never, however, found much value in dreadlocks. As far as I was concerned, they made whoever was wearing them seem dirty, unhealthy, and just shy of screaming for attention.

After the dreadlocked girl tossed the menus on the table and walked away, we each sat down.

“You like that shit?” I asked as I picked up the menu.

He cocked an eyebrow as he took a sip from his glass of water. “What shit?”

“Dreads?” I asked as I tossed my head toward the waitress.

He shook his head. “The Rastafarian chick? Nope.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I said.

“Personally, I like your hair,” he said as he nodded his head toward me. “Dark, clean, well-cut, and always done up a little different. Hell, it never looks the same, but it’s always perfect. I like that.”

My face felt flush, and I was sure that I was blushing, but the compliment was genuine and it made me feel great. Based on who I had received them from in the past, I generally categorized compliments as attempts to get in my pants. With Vince, I knew better. Whatever he said came from the heart.

Hearing him say such things made me want him more, and the want was almost a dull pain. As a matter of respect to him, I never asked for anything else, but I wanted him more with each passing week.

Each time we met, I expected him to finally reveal a portion of his personality or being that would cause me to turn away under the realization he wasn’t what or who I thought he was, but it never happened. If anything, he continued to confirm he was just what I expected – and hoped – him to be. He was a man with tremendous devotion and commitment to what and who he believed in, and it just so happened he used a motorcycle as his means of transportation.

He intertwined his fingers, turned his palms to face me, and extended his arms as he cracked his knuckles and yawned. Seeing his biceps and chest flare was something I would never get used to, even if we remained nothing but friends for a lifetime. His body did a pretty good job of defining perfection, and although he wasn’t a conceited or arrogant man, he often accidentally flaunted it.

And each time he did so, my heart stopped for a few beats.

“So tell me about today’s reviews,” he said as he leaned back in his seat.

“Uhhm. Well, I’ve got one stepbrother book I finished earlier in the week that was a good solid three and a half, and a werewolf shapeshifter deal that was actually pretty good. I’m back and forth between four and four and a half. We’ll see how I feel after lunch,” I said.

He leaned forward, pressing his forearms into the edge of the table, and cocked an eyebrow in what had become his signature gesture of concern. “But you only read romance, right?”

I took a drink of water and nodded my head. “Yep.”

“Don’t tell me a stepbrother book is…”

Before he had a chance to continue, I interrupted. “Sure is.”

“Do they…”

“Sure do.”

“The brother and sister?”

“Uh huh, but they’re ‘steps’ so it’s okay,” I said as I raised my glass.

He pushed himself away from the table and shook his head. “It’s wrong as fuck. And you’re telling me people like that shit?”

“Sure seem to,” I responded.

“And a werewolf what did you say? Shapeshifter? It is a romance, right?” he asked as he leaned onto the edge of the table again.