What the hell’s wrong with me? Why am I not afraid right now? I have been scared of virtually everything my whole life, and now, when I should be running for cover, I’m not scared at all. I don’t know him.” I feel my cheeks heat up and look down at my feet. My head flies back as I search his face his jaw is ticking, and his knuckles of the hand holding my phone are turning white. “I wish,” I mumble under my breath and hear him growl. “Um…that’s Jamie,” I reply, wondering why he is asking but too afraid to ask him the look on his face isn’t very inviting for conversation. Who is this?” He presses the button on my phone, the screen lights up, and a picture of Jamie Dornan wearing nothing but a pair of jeans takes up the screen. I have to tilt my head way back even in my four-inch heels, he still towers over me. “This cannot be fucking happening,” he growls, and I wonder if he is completely crazy. The few days a week I get out of the house, I like to dress up or at least wear heels. When I’m at home working, I wear baggy sweats I cut off to make shorts or pajama pants that hang off of me along with tank tops or T-shirts. I look normal-or my working-outside-the-house normal. I look down at myself, wondering how I could’ve offended him. “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, seeming upset. He shakes his head, running his free hand down his face, and then his eyes sweep over me again. I want to take a step back, but I can’t go anywhere.
Tattoo starts towards me, blocking my view. I glance past him to the other guy-or at least try to-but Mr. I gulp at the intense expression on his face. His eyes come to me before looking away quickly, and the next second, they come back to me and do a head-to-toe sweep. He is beautiful in a way that is unusual but no less gorgeous. His jaw is strong, with a few days of stubble, and his eyes are so blue that they almost look like contacts. His dark blond hair is cut low on the sides, and the top is in a fauxhawk.
His ears have those gauge thingies in them. He’s wearing black boots, washed-out blue jeans, and a white t-shirt, and every piece of skin exposed is covered with tattoos. He’s about six three and huge, and I don’t mean just in height his body looks like it’s been chiseled from stone. I start to wave to see if he’s the one I’m meeting, but then another guy catches my attention. He’s about my age, not much taller than my five feet five inches, cute, and wearing a suit and tie.
I look around and see a guy staring at me.
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