Page 1 of Hot Shot

chapter

one

Max

Getting an erection in public is awkward.

Not to mention uncomfortable when you’re wearing jeans and everything is being compressed. But here we are.

I don’t normally get aroused when walking through the airport, but seeing the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on stopped me dead in my tracks. And now, here I am, killing time between flights at DFW, hard enough to pound nails.

It was her laugh that first caught my attention. So real, so unabashed and full of authentic joy, I immediately found myself smiling and searching for the source of that perfect sound. When I saw her, talking on her phone, it was like a kick to my solar plexus.

She’s sitting on a restaurant “patio” just on the other side of security from where I am.

The kicker is that she has dimples.

Dimples are my fucking kryptonite, and she has deep ones in both cheeks. I’m pretty sure she’s older than me. She has that air of relaxed confidence that girls my age never have. Like she’s at home in her own skin and knows who she is. Fuck if that doesn’t turn me on even more. Dark brown hair that falls in thick waves around her shoulders, matching brown eyes, if I had to guess.

Though she’s sitting at a table so I can’t see her entire body, I know she’s plush and soft. The shirt she’s wearing has an oversized neck so that it falls loose off of one of her shoulders and swoops down to reveal a delicious line of cleavage. Her tits look like they could more than fill my hands—and I’ve got big hands!

She’s nothing short of gorgeous. And yep, I’m rock hard. Not at all awkward when you’re standing in the airport with your roller bag and a fucking neck pillow currently sitting on your shoulders. Idiot. I pull off the offending pillow and loop it around my luggage handles.

I might not look cool, but maybe I can turn on the charm and at least find out where she lives. I’m not a player and I don’t usually approach women out of nowhere, I have two sisters and have been taught that I need to be aware that my size can be intimidating.

Still, I can’t not talk to her. There’s just something about her that’s pulling me closer to her.

My flight has been delayed due to bad weather. So, even though she’s on the other side of the security screening, it won’t be a problem to walk closer to her. I have hours to kill, so leaving security and entering again won’t be a problem.

I take in every detail about her that I can see. She keeps looking at her phone, then glancing around. There’s a book sitting on the tabletop next to her, a brightly colored plastic flower acts as a bookmark. She’s meeting someone. Someone she doesn’t know.

I’ve seen that movie.

What I don’t see is a man walking up to her. Whatever his reasons for not showing up, I’m stealing his opportunity.

chapter

two

Charlotte

Being a thirtysomething single woman has its benefits. Primarily a newfound confidence in yourself. First of all, I’m hilarious. Okay, let’s just get this out in the open. I’ve always been the designated funny, fat friend. I own it. I’m okay with it. Because frankly, I’d rather be funny than beautiful.

Not that I’m unattractive. Nope, I’ve got great hair, a pretty smile with deep dimples and great tits. Yes, I also have a big ass, my thighs have never NOT touched, and I’ve got a soft, squishy belly.

But I’m confident nonetheless.

At least, I normally am. Ninety percent of the time, I own my bad-ass-bitchery. Unfortunately, right now, I’m veering uncomfortably close to that ten percent of the time when I doubt myself and all my life decisions.

Why, you may ask, am I’m doubting myself?

Isn’t it obvious?

I am doubting myself for the same reason that every woman in the modern world doubts herself: men on the internet.

Specifically, men on internet dating apps.

Even more specifically, the man I’ve been talking to online for the past two months who said he was ready to meet in person but is now fifty-seven minutes late for our “date.”