Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

When I get there, I sit down at a free table and wait. I’m anxious and nervous. I diligently watch the sidewalk, at all the dozens of people streaming the streets on a Friday night. As the minutes tick on, I start to regret doing this, and just as a glimmer of guilt comes pulsing in, something loud pierces the air. A revving sound that catches the attention of most people walking by. I turn my head and watch a blue sports car effortlessly pull into a free spot on the side of the road across the street from me. The driver’s door opens, and a tall built body climbs out. I stare hard for a long moment, taking in the faded jeans and grey t-shirt of the man that already has women passing him toss their heads back for another look.

He doesn’t pay attention to them. Instead, he turns around and my heart catches in my throat as I take in his face.

Aidan.

In casual clothes.

Looking like a casual man, which is such a fucking joke when you think about it.

I don’t know whether to stand up or stay seated. He moves toward the ice cream parlor, and I do a double take on my clothes. God, what the fuck am I wearing? I straighten my hair with the palm of my hand, suddenly conscious of how I appear. He has his keys in the palm of one hand, and his eyes are scanning the parlor and its surroundings. He’s searching for me, and I can’t express the way my body tightens with anticipation.

Then his eyes meet mine, and everything in that moment stops. He stares at me deeply as he draws near, his mouth stretching into a lazy smile. I’m too shocked by how beautiful he is to smile back. He’s…mouth-watering. A glorious piece of chiseled art. In my mind, when I fantasized about him, he was always in a suit, and I was always in his lap, wrapping his tie around my hand to bring him closer.

I’m not prepared for this. Or him. I’m suddenly scanning the streets and figuring out an escape. He is way out of my league in every way and I shouldn’t have replied to him to begin with. I’m going to totally fuck this up.

He stops in front of me before my escape plan can come together, and I stare up at the tall man before me. I’ve never been the kind of girl to lose her shit around a man, especially the second time around, but…I’m losing my shit right now.

“What flavor?” is the first thing he says to me, and that deep voice is spine-tingling sexy.

I blink. “What?”

He smiles wider and gestures to the parlor. “What flavor ice cream do you want, Ivy?”

“Oh. Uh, chocolate.”

He nods. “Be back in five.”

“No,” I reply, already standing up. “I’ll grab my own cone.”

“It’s on me. Sit down.” Before I can refuse, he turns and heads straight inside, already pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. I sit and stare at his ass through the glass window as he stops in front of the counter. My eyes wander up to his broad shoulders and strong arms. He passes cash to the teenage girl over the counter that’s smiling from ear to ear at him. As he waits, he turns and glances at me briefly. We make eye contact, and his face softens as mine heats. I casually look away from him, but my heart is thumping a million miles an hour. I’m in deep fucking trouble right now. The man I’ve been daydreaming about – the man I never thought I’d see again – will be sitting across from me in a few minutes time.

My eyes dart to him again, and I watch his body stretching as he takes both cones into each hand. The worker is blushing as she watches him turn and make his way out. He moves fluidly, wearing his confidence on his sleeve. I feel butterflies in my stomach as he approaches me, his gaze meeting mine.

“Chocolate,” he tells me, handing me my cone.

I take it from him, shaky hand and all, and he sits down across the small table from me. Eyes on eyes. Two bodies facing one another, four feet apart. He leans over and rests his elbows on the table, and he’s still just staring at me. I watch him bring the ice cream to his mouth and lick at the vanilla flavor. His tongue looks decadent. I’m jealous of his ice cream. Mesmerized, I do the same with my chocolate, licking away at it, causing his eyes to gaze down at my mouth with the same heated look.

This is ridiculous. Why aren’t we talking? And why don’t I feel awkward right now?

We lick and stare, paying zero attention to anything around us. We’re in our little bubble, all chatter and sounds of the city life drowned out. The heat between us is palpable. I’m squirming, trying to cool my body down from the sudden energy running through it.

I’m so horny, I’m uncomfortable. There, I said it! I’m turned the fuck on. I squeeze my legs together a little obviously and chastise myself for it. Don’t do that, you idiot. He’ll know you’re horny, and how will we live down that humiliation?

Why am I talking to myself in the third person?

To remind your vagina that it needs some serious maintenance before you even think of seeing him again.

“You look better than I remember,” he finally says softly, breaking the silence. We’re halfway through our cones, licking the ice cream from our lips. “Still dressed provocatively. I’m panting over here.”

My mouth stretches into a timid smile. “And you’re not wearing a suit.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“A little.”

He scans me up and down and he makes no effort concealing it. “I’ll wear it next time. I tried to dress casual today. I was supposed to have lunch with my brother.”

“How