Page 2 of The Love Destroyers

Ouch. As if I needed to be reminded of my current unemployment status. Still, I’m feeling generous, so I give him what he asked for. “I’m guessing 60/40.”

It’s a generous estimation. After all, Rosie and Anthonyhaveonly known each other for a month.

He gives another low, throaty laugh. “Brutal. I’m not a relationship kind of guy, so I get where you’re coming from, but don’t you want it to work out?”

“Sure. And if karma really meant anything, then it would. My brother deserves something good, and your sister’s a ray of sunshine, but good deeds are punished and bad deeds are rewarded. Karma’s a fairy tale people tell themselves so they don’t have to deal with how screwed up the world is.”

Oops. I didn’t mean to unleash the full power of my bitterness on the Marlboro Man.

He gives me a long, assessing look.

“What?”

His mouth tips into a slow, lazy grin, the cigarette hanging from it, and I feel an unwilling pulse of attraction that’s all about my body and not a single bit about my brain. “Just wondering who fucked you over and what you did to them for it.”

A laugh coughs its way out of me. I shoot an accusatory look at the cigarette. He shakes his head slightly, another smilebuilding on his mouth, then rubs the cigarette out against the side of the building. I’m prepared for him to drop it, proving he is a litterer on top of everything, but he doesn’t. He just keeps it in his fingers—his hold surprisingly delicate.

“Why do you figure I did something to them?” I ask after my laughter dies down, leaving a strange feeling in its wake. Inappropriate lust, maybe. Sadness, surely.

He nods at me, a twinkle in his eye. “You’ve got all the marks of a ball buster.”

“I take that as a compliment, you know.”

He pockets the cigarette. “You were meant to. Because you still haven’t told me your story, and I’m bored. I’d like to butter you up enough that you’ll share it.”

“You’re bored?” I say with a snort. “Was it all that talk of love and devotion in there?”

“I’ve only ever felt that way about a car,” he says, with a smirk that hides plenty. “But Rachel was one hell of a hatchback.”

“I believe you’ve only felt that way about a car,” I tell him pointedly, “but not that it was a hatchback. Hatchbacks don’t inspire that level of devotion. Especially from a car guy.”

I know he is one. Rosie told me he works at a garage in New York City. She showed me photos of some of the old cars he’s restored. The only thing I know about cars is that it’s time to take mine to the shop when the oil light goes on, but I can tell the cars in the photos would be coveted by people who know more about motor vehicles than I do.

“I did notice you drove one here,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“So you were watching me, huh? Good to know.”

“I was watching the hatchback.”

Laughter spurts out of me. “Yeah, well, you can romance her on your own time. Just don’t stick your dick in the tailpipeunless you like to roll the dice. I haven’t gone to the carwash in months.”

He laughs through his nose. “I knew you were a ball buster.”

I give him a sidelong glance, lingering more this time. Nothing’s changed. He’s a man who looks like trouble. A man wholikestrouble. He’s the last person I should confide in.

He raises his eyebrows and pulls a flask out of his other pocket. Offers it to me.

I shake my head. “No Rohypnol for me, thanks.”

Rolling his eyes, he opens the flask and takes a swig before offering it to me again.

“Now, it’s the saliva I object to,” I say, but I accept it from him anyway and take a long swig. Whiskey.Goodwhiskey.

A sigh escapes me, and I go in for another swig before handing it back. “I appreciate that you like the good stuff.”

“I definitely do,” he says, giving me a long, sizzling look that makes me laugh again, because I’m wearing a long coat that conceals me from head to toe.

“What?” he asks, making an amused sound that’s not quite a laugh. He pauses to take another swig of the whiskey before tucking it away again in his leather coat. “You’ve injured me.”

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