And chances are, I won’t even find this guy attractive. It takes more than a hot body and a pretty face for me.
I mean, yes, an attractive exterior is nice, but chemistry is about so much more than looks. I’m drawn to men who are passionate about what they do and what they believe in. Men who work hard, play hard, and laugh hard. Men who are clever and funny and, most of all, kind.
I actually like nice guys. Call me crazy, but seeing a big, strong man choose to use his heart before his other muscles is the sexiest thing ever.
The chances a man who works as an escort—even a high-class, no-sexy-times escort—is going to be my type are slim to none.
The realization puts my frazzled nerves at ease. This isn’t going to be weird. I’m not going to spend the night feeling awkward. I’m going to meet a nice guy who works for my friend, enjoy his company while avoiding ridicule from Stephanie and her band of evil society minions, and come home and eat a pint of ice cream, secure in the knowledge that I won’t have to wear a ball gown again until the summer benefit.
Spirits buoyed, I hail a cab to Central Park, arriving at the entrance to the zoo a few minutes before seven, just as snowflakes begin filtering down from the dark sky.
It’s a gentle snow, just enough to make the park look coated in fairy dust, but I didn’t spend twenty minutes wrangling my hair into an updo to get soggy flyaways.
I reach for the hood on my wool coat just as a shadow falls across my face. I glance up, startled to see a fancy umbrella with a carved wooden handle held over my head.
“Don’t want Cinderella getting wet before the ball,” a deep voice rumbles.
I jerk my attention toward the voice, gaze colliding with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
They’re Siberian husky blue, priceless gemstone blue, so bright and startling it takes a moment to realize the face they’re set in is equally breathtaking. High cheekbones, full lips, and a perfectly crooked nose combine to form a man so insanely gorgeous his face should come with a warning—May Induce Drooling at First Sight.
But he’s more than a face. He also possesses broad, muscular shoulders that strain the seams of his tux and the poised body of an athlete. Even the hand holding the umbrella handle is extraordinary, with long, manly fingers and a wide palm that could easily cradle a grapefruit with room left over.
He’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, so drop-dead gorgeous I forget my own name.
But that’s okay, since he apparently knows it already.
“Maggie, right?” His grin, complete with charming eye crinkles, hits me like a sucker punch to the ovaries. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Just didn’t want you to get snowed on.”
I choke on my next breath but manage to play it off as a laugh. “Of course. Thank you so much. So you’re—”
“Zachary Cooper,” he supplies, extending his free hand. “But my friends call me Coop. I hope you will, too.”
I take his hand, trying my best to ignore the way my nervous system lights up when his fingers wrap around mine. “Maggie Peterson. So nice to meet you, Coop. Thanks for making it on such short notice.”
“Of course.” He releases my hand with a final, friendly squeeze. “We can’t let this monster woman get away with wrecking your holiday.”
I exhale with a bob of my shoulders. “Oh, she wouldn’t ruin it. Just pee on it a little.”
He wrinkles his perfectly imperfect nose. “Well, you don’t want that, either. As far as I can tell, New York City has enough rogue urine.”
“My daughter and I were just talking about that. Though that would be a great band name,” I say without thinking, jumping into the game Lexi and I play when we hear a weird word combo that might look good on an album cover.
I start to explain, but Zach—Coop—is already laughing.
“Rogue Urine. Yeah, that’s a good one.” He nods toward the clock, where the metal animals are lurching into motion as it strikes seven. “Bronze Monkey Experiment. Also a solid effort.”
I tip my head in acknowledgment, my lips curving. “Very solid. Dance the Elephant would also be good. Though probably too much like Cage the Elephant.”
“But the elephant in question would be a lot happier,” he shoots back without missing a beat.
Damn. He’s clever. Funny, too.
“But on a serious note,” he says, his expression softening. “It’s truly great to meet you. Penny is the best. Any friend of hers I know will be a friend of mine.”
Shit…
He’s nice, too.
Why did he have to be nice?!
It isn’t fair. No man this beautiful should be a sweetheart on top of it. His head should be swollen from a lifetime of women swooning at his feet.