Page 40 of Hogging the Hunk

Chortling at his cringe, I reached for my apple cider. It was barely lukewarm, though it was still delicious. “Picky eater?”

“I’m still sorting out what she does and doesn’t like. I’ll make her an adventurous eater yet.” Milo ran his hand across his face. It was tempting to do the same. He’d mastered the art of stubble and had a perfect weeklong beard. “You’ll want to make it soon though.”

“For dinner?”

“Ellie and I should invite you over, shouldn’t we?”

Dang it. I walked right into that one. “Sorry. I misunderstood. I’m not trying to get a free meal out of you.”

“My specialty is anything on the grill.”

Smiling politely, I ignored my blip about dinner. “Why do I need to come soon?”

“Truffle is at her peak of cuteness. She’s the right amount of sweet, chubby baby and rambunctious, naughty toddler. After she’s eaten, she zooms around the house for a half an hour, then tuckers herself out. Sometimes, she snores when she sleeps.”

Maren might be the designated animal lover of the two of us, yet I’d fall in love as readily as her at anything even remotely cute. Bonus points if it was a baby. I was a pediatrician, after all. A snoring, snoozing pig sounded too adorable to pass up.

So naturally, I tried to.

“I can’t.”

There. That took care of it. Like ripping off a Bandaid. A tenacious, sticky one that pulled bits of flesh with it when it was yanked off.

“Can’t?” Milo looked quizzically at me, giving me the benefit of the doubt despite my erratic behavior. One minute, the idea of a piglet had me squealing. The next, I flatly refused his offer to see one. “Why not?”

“Your schedule might be flexible, but mine? Not so much. I’m stuck in one location from nine to five every day.”

“And one of those spots is right across the street from me. Under the shadow of Greg, the runway model, remember?” Chuckling at my groan, I liked how it lit up his entire face. He might have entered Maren’s house with an unreadable expression, but there were no hidden secrets now. “I’ll tell Bonita to leave an hour open over lunchtime. I can bring Truffle to work, so all you’ll have to do is cross the street.”

He enticed me with one of his crooked smiles, like he was unsure of himself even though it was common knowledge that he was the most desirable bachelor in a fifty-mile radius. I resisted caving, though there were clear signs that the walls were cracking.

“I really shouldn’t.” My answer was weak. It didn’t even convince me.

Milo turned his face to the floor, studying the old tongue and groove wood planks that my grandpa had laid when he built this house for Granny. Diverting his attention to the wood didn’t hide that he was trying to figure me out.

Wrapping one hand over the other, he rested his elbows on his thighs, still staring at the wood floor under his boots. “Does this have anything to do with Greg?”

“What? No. Greg and I are on a break.” I sniffed, lowkey offended that Milo would insinuate a man would have power over me even when he was half a world away, even if deep down, I knew Greg did. No one else needed to know that. “He’s somewhere in El Salvador, I think.”

Rising to his feet, Milo scrubbed his face with both hands. His callouses ran over his scruff, catching so it sounded like he was using fine-grit sandpaper. He began pacing the length of the coffee table. Back and forth, back and forth.

“You’re going to wear a rut in the floor,” I joked.

That rooted Milo in place. He wasn’t smiling at my tease, but at least he was looking at me. There was that glint in his eyes again. The intense interest. The hunger. Not for food, but for something else less tangible, yet equally essential.

My heart, which had been having its own workout ever since Milo crossed the threshold, cracked against my ribs. “What?”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Ask away.” I stretched my legs and linked my hands behind my head in the universal sign of complete relaxation. So long as he didn’t notice my pulse ticking under my jawline, I might fool him. “I’m all yours.”

My choice of words was not ideal. There was no taking them back, though, so I owned them by raising my eyebrows. I dared him to make my comment into a double entendre.

“Okay.” Milo rested his hands on his hips and let out what sounded like every molecule of oxygen he’d been holding in his lungs. “Here goes.” Another long breath. “Beckett, are you attracted to me?”

Chapter Twelve

Beckett