Page 53 of Villainous Summer

“That doesn’t happen to all women.”

His eyes were a grim steel.

“And you would know?” Annoyed, I glared at him and crossed my arms. “Every single friend of mine has gotten them. If you are a woman on social media, it’s happened to you. The other day, my cousin Autumn posted a picture of her in dirty overalls and rain boots on the beach on a clean-up day and some guy commented, ‘Nice tits.’”

“That’s—”

“Besides, even if I had some guy I was talking to, you can’t get jealous. You’re not really my boyfriend, are you?” I raised a brow and dared him to contradict me.

A tiny spark of something flashed inside me, but I ignored it.

When his eyes slid away from mine, I nodded, and the spark died.

“If someone is bothering you, tell me, and I’ll take care of it.” He flexed his jaw as if he was preparing himself for some showdown between him and a shadowed army.

I frowned. “I can take care of myself. You don’t need to swoop in with some misguided sense of justice, thinking you’re saving me. I’m not some dainty princess. Why don’t you worry a little more about yourself and less about the messages some basement dweller is sending me?”

The last thing I needed was for Van to get wind of my schemes. He could never understand what I was going through.

I patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the concern, though.”

Before he could say much else, I trotted ahead of him.

“I’m sorry. My question came out wrong. All I ask is, tell me if there is someone else.”

When he caught up with me, it was with a conciliatory tone.

“There’s no one else, Van. Honestly, right now, you are too much.”

His face broke into a wide grin.

“Sunshine, I bet I’d fit just right for you.”

Ignoring the come-on, I picked up the pace.

He walked me up the stairs to my apartment, remembering which one was mine from that disaster of a first fake date.

As I unlocked the door, he leaned against the bumpy, spackled blue-gray wall.

“Are you going to invite me in?” He quirked a dark brow.

How I wanted to. The way he would hold my head by the nape, the sweet sting as his lips would find mine. The soft rustle of our clothes falling onto my hallway floor as we would make our way to the bedroom. His heavy weight as he would press me into the mattress, the suck of his mouth and the scrape of his teeth as they would travel down my body.

Wetness pooled between my thighs. It would be so easy—effortless, really.

“Ask me to come inside, Summer.” His thumb traced the line of my jaw.

My eyes must have shown my thoughts because he leaned in closer, his sweet breath caressing my face.

“We can finish what we started.” He curled his fingers tighter on the nape of my neck, his words a rough vow.

I wrapped my hand around his, squeezed it once, then pulled it off. “I can’t. We can call that kiss an overzealous had-too-many-drinks thing.”

“That was more than a kiss, and you only had one drink.”

“I can’t.” I hoped my tone was firm enough. “As simple as that. I’m not some random girl you picked up for a good time. You have your reasons for needing me, and I have mine for saying no.”

He took the rejection in stride. Most of the men I had experience with would have been pleading, trying to guilt trip me, or—worst of all—gotten angry.