Page 49 of Villainous Summer

Unbidden, the image of her beneath me, her body flush with want and her hands all over me as I thrust into her, flooded my mind. I shook away the thought.

“Despite what early aughts teen comedies might have taught you, most girls don’t compete over men. I would wager that she won’t be thinking about you at all now.”

“I couldn’t care less what that woman thinks of me. There’s only one person I’ve been thinking about tonight.” I leaned forward, still not wanting to touch her and cross that line.

But a little harmless flirting? That, I could do.

“Are you playing with me?” She quirked a brow and frowned.

“Trust me. There are many things I want to do to you, but I am one hundred percent serious about them.”

She cast her eyes down.

I reveled in making her nervous until her shoulders shook.

Lifting her head, she pursed her lips, holding back a laugh. She let out a chuckle, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry. One hundred percent serious.” She imitated my voice. With a pat on my arm, she stepped back. “Keep it up, Hot Rod. Might work eventually.” After emptying her glass, she set it back down. “I should probably head back to my place. I have to be at the hotel at seven tomorrow morning.”

The rejection stung.

I wasn’t so egotistical to have my come-ons work every time, but I had a good record.

Could this woman do a single thing the way I was used to?

She stood, her thin sweater looped around her bag’s strap.

“Can I walk you to your car? In case there are meandering thugs with backward sunglasses who didn’t end up at the casino.”

She slipped the strap over her neck, letting it fall across her body. “I walked. I’ll be okay.”

“Let me walk you home, then.”

She cocked her head. “Why? So you can stay three paces behind me and check out my ass?”

“I wasn’t—that’s not what’s happening. Dammit. Are you always this quick to call a man out?” I grabbed a handful of the little chocolate mints by the door and popped one in my mouth.

She shrugged, her long gait already taking her out the door. “Yeah, kind of. Is it too much for your delicate feelings?”

“Obviously not.” I scowled.

Instead of taking the sidewalk, she headed through the waterfront park and to the boardwalk spanning to the end of Freedom Bay.

Ahead of us was a group of teens throwing rocks into the muck of a low tide.

“I know I’m a handful, but you look like you’ve got two hands. Just say you don’t have what it takes for me.”

The quip stopped me as she walked away. It took me a few moments to catch up.

Summer

Somewhere between my third soda water and lemon and the question about which state invented curling, my knee bumped into Van’s. He pulled away quickly, shifting to the other side.

When we were figuring out the tallest dog breed, I tried to lace my fingers with his while giving a high five. By the time the West Wing question gave our team the win, the message was clear.

For some reason, Van invited me to the bar to pretend to be his girlfriend but also acted like I was carrying some skin disease.

Even when I confronted him, his excuse of not wanting to be a “sleazeball”—a phrase I wouldn’t use but nonetheless liked—didn’t add up. He was hot and cold with the flirting and innuendos but would then back off. It made no sense.

Before he invited me out, I didn’t see him in the days that followed, but when I came home from work three nights later, I noticed wiper blades resting against my front door with a note to put them on immediately.

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