The Blush Factor by Deborah Bladon

Chapter Twenty-Four

Matthew

I watchFaith as her eyes trail over her phone’s screen. She draws in the tiniest breath as if something she’s reading has stolen a small part of her.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, not so much out of curiosity as concern.

I’m that guy that is always looking out for everyone else. I’d never openly admit it, but those around me know it.

If you need money, you come to me first. If I have some to spare, it’s yours.

The exception to that is Roman. He’s loaded but doesn’t flaunt it, and he’s generous too. He’s constantly proving that with random gifts, including the shoes on my feet now.

I dole out advice like I’m trained to do it.

I suppose, in some ways, I am.

That’s what happens when you’re forced to mature before your time. I was the caregiver of my siblings, and my mom, in many ways. I still am.

Faith’s gaze drifts to my face. “It’s this guy.”

This guy.

What guy? Based on the detail accountings in her diary of what she wants me to do to her, I assumed that another guy didn’t exist.

That’s in an abstract way. I’m well aware other men exist. I saw a number of them checking out her sweet peach of an ass on the subway ride home.

I just didn’t think she had another man on her radar.

Although, I did see her in the lobby of the building with a scrawny blond-haired guy a couple of weeks ago.

“Rich,” she says.

I have no idea if that’s a new term that’s a substitute for a curse word or if she’s asking if I’m wealthy. I do all right, but I’m not Roman rich.

“Rich?” I repeat back, hoping to lure a little clarity out of her or another of those tiny breathy sounds because my cock noticed that.

“Rich Rochester.” She rolls her big blue eyes. “He’s my friend’s cousin. She tried to set me up with him.”

I hold in the overwhelming urge I have to yank her phone out of her hand and bury it in the salad bowl in the center of the table. I wouldn’t destroy it. I know how fucking hard it is to set up a new phone. I don’t wish that shit on anyone.

Well, maybe on Rich Rochester. What the fuck kind of name is that?

Rubbing at my forehead, I level my tone. “You’re not interested?”

“He showed up here in the lobby with flowers and a box of condoms in his hand one night.”

Goddammit.

If Rochester made a recent appearance in her diary in the starring role of taking her virginity, I swear to fuck my head might explode.

There’s no way in hell a guy who carts around an entire box of condoms knows what he’s doing in bed.

You hide a few in a pocket - more than that is overkill.

“He what now?”

I have no clue why I ask that. I don’t need to hear about Rochester and his condoms. I need to find my bearings, and right now, they’re far outside my reach.

“I sent him away.” She adds a flick of her wrist to accentuate the point. “I would never have sex with him.”

Hallelujah.

“He wants to see me.” She drops those baby blues of hers to her phone again. “We have some stuff in common. Maybe I should meet up with him to talk.”

Sweet naïve Faith wants to lend Rochester a hand.

Rochester, on the other hand, likely wants another shot with her.

“When does he want to get together?”

I commend myself for getting those words out in a somewhat level tone. My jaw is clenched so tightly that I’m putting all the money my mother invested in braces into jeopardy.

“Tonight.”

That doesn’t work for me because I don’t want the condom clown anywhere near her.

I offer an alternative because an honorable man will do whatever it takes to protect the fair maiden or to keep the woman he’s feeling a little something for out of the reach of another man’s arms.

“I’m great at offering advice.” I try to sell that with a squaring of my shoulders. “Maybe Rich could use some words of wisdom from a guy like me.”

She contemplates that. “That’s very kind of you to offer, Dr. Hawthorne.”

Kind?Doubtful. Selfish? Absolutely.

Her gaze drops to her phone yet again when another message pings through, lighting up the screen.

I try to steal a glance, but upside down reading is a no go for me.

She bites the corner of her bottom lip, so I focus on that because how the hell can I not?

Her fingers fly over the phone’s screen with the precision of mine when I’m operating.

When they stall, she glances at me. “I think Rich has an ulterior motive.”

I don’t even try to feign surprise. Instead, I go straight to the heart of the matter, or in this case, the condom clown’s cock. “He wants to sleep with you.”

Her eyes widen. “He does.”

“What do you want, Faith?” I ask the question, knowing that I’m sliding down a slippery slope.

The tip of her tongue darts over her bottom lip as she stares into my eyes.

Tell me you want me, and I’ll have you bare and coming within the next two minutes.

I keep that to myself because I don’t want to send her out the door.

“I don’t want Rich,” she states simply. “I want to stay here with you.”

I slide my hand across the table to cover hers. “Then stay. Stay as long as you like.”