Marisol and Demo are opposites. That's what makes their spark so hot!
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He was as handsome as ever, but the obvious effort he’d put into himself made the whole package even that much more delectable. Instead of his usual torn, dirty Levis, Demo was wearing dark wash jeans and a button down shirt that was white enough to look fresh and clean, but just wrinkled enough to reinforce his casual attitude. What, me? Nervous for a date? Pssshh. Pass me a Heineken.
Demo grinned at me, and I noticed he was clean-shaven. For the first time since meeting Demo I realized his roguish good looks, whiskers, and disheveled locks were all hiding a boyish face.
“You look like a million bucks,” he said.
I struck a pose. “Oh, this old thing?”
“You’re gonna look pretty out of place in my tow truck.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels self-consciously. “Not that I’m complaining.”
For the briefest of moments, I was mortified that I would be driving around in a tow truck all night, and I could practically hear my mother’s inevitable groan of disapproval from clear down in California.
But as quickly as those thoughts came, the image of my huge, empty house waiting for me when I got home pushed them aside. Followed quickly by the empty right side of my bed, and the not two, not three, but four empty bedrooms that sat unused upstairs. Sure, my last date had been with a real estate developer who drove a Ferrari, but the date was dead in the water before we’d even finished our salads.
Of course, I didn’t tell Candace and Lexie that the next day—the version I’d told them ended with mad, passionate lovemaking that blew his mind.
It was time to stop acting like some sort of unattached sex kitten. I wanted different things now. And Demo was just that. Different. Different was good.
I offered him a warm smile. “I think it’s your tow truck that’ll make me look good.”
Demo’s lips twitched. “This nice side of you is kind of pleasant. You know that?”