Page 42 of Love to Hate You

He chuckled. “No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” she agreed. “It’s nice to see you rumpled and human-like.”

His eyes implored her to understand. Really hear what he was saying. “I am human, love. I might come across indestructible, but beneath the walls is a guy who is scared to death to see what the right person can uncover.”

He said it as if she were the right person. Like she made him vulnerable in a way that others had not. But hadn’t he been engaged?

“That goes both ways,” she admitted.

“Good to know.” He kissed her nose and disentangled them and started swimming to the ladder. He hoisted himself up and was on the dock in one fluid masculine move.

“Then where are you going?” she asked, wanting him to come back and finish what he’d started. “Don’t you want to finish?”

“Love, ten minutes ago you wanted me out of your house. Now you want me inside of your body. You’re sending off mixed signals. Plus, I don’t argue well when my dick is this hard. So before we go there, I’m going to catalog what happened for later tonight, then be on my merry way.”

“You’re just going to leave me like this.” Hot. Pent-up desire coursing through her and making her lightheaded.

“I’m leaving before I somehow turn this meet-cute into a meet-ugly.”

Her body cooled faster than a cryogenics tank and she was back to boiling mad. “So this was a game to you?”

“You’re the one demanding there be winners and losers at every turn. That sounds like a game to me.”

“Well, don’t worry, this particular game will never be played again.”

He shook his head, and drops of water showered the wooden planks, and she couldn’t help but appreciate the way his clothes clung to his body, showing off a massive tent in his slacks.

He laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

And before she could get in the last word, he was strolling up the dock and into the darkness, and for some stupid reason she found herself smiling.

Chapter 14

the wise old man

Wes had managed to sneak into the house undetected, showered, and now he was lying on a lumpy couch that was a few inches too narrow and two feet too short for him. It was well after midnight and he was still wide awake. So was his dick.

The memory of Summer’s tits pressed up against his chest while her tongue was down his throat was fresh in his mind. That kiss had made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years—more confused as well. This destructive attraction could only lead to disaster. Yet, instead of heading home to strategize his grand opening, which was the smart thing to do, he was lying on an uncomfortable couch strategizing ways to stay. Not just stay, but be asked to stay. Which made no sense.

He had an entire empire depending on him and all he could think about was Summer and the way she’d opened up to him earlier. The way she’d looked when she’d been laughing. How free he’d felt when she kissed him. It had taken everything he’d had to walk away, but he didn’t want to be another Daryl or Dog Boy—another failed meet-cute. He’d rather wonder for the rest of his life what sex with Summer would be like than be another disappointment. And he knew deep down that if he’d stayed even a second longer they’d have had sex. Just like he knew that if they did she’d regret it, and he refused to be another regret to another person—especially her.

He wasn’t looking for a relationship, but he was looking for more than a hormone-charged quickie. Wes didn’t mind being a pain in her ass, but he refused to be just a distraction from what had become a shitty day for her.

More importantly, he wanted to change her mind about him. He wanted a second chance to make a first impression. Bottom line, he wanted her.

Wes punched the pillow and turned over, nearly falling off the couch. He was just getting settled when the hall light clicked on. He squinted and saw a shadow emerge and something akin to giddiness bubbled up in his stomach. Was she actually coming to him? Was she there to open up, talk about earlier, and admit she liked him as much as he liked her? His dick sure hoped so, since it happened to be his copilot whenever she was around.

“Summer?” he whispered.

“Sorry to disappoint,” a distinctively male voice said. “It’s just me.”

“Me” turned out to be Summer’s father. Frank was dressed in flannel pajamas. His white hair was sticking up like a Q-tip and he had a knitting bag under his arm, complete with knitting needles and yarn sticking out the top.

Behind him was a potato with legs, snorting with every step she took.

Wes sat up and rubbed his eyes to be sure he was seeing what he was seeing, but no matter how many times he blinked, Frank was still there. The older man took a seat in the recliner and pulled out his knitting. Buttercup collapsed like she’d run a marathon, then farted.

Maybe he hadn’t been as stealthy as he’d assumed and this was the whole “What are your intentions with my daughter” speech. Or maybe Frank knew about the bet and was there to ask Wes to leave in the morning as per the terms.

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