Page 29 of Junkyard Dog

“Steak sandwich, well done, no mushrooms, no onions, garlic toast on the side, please,” she said, smacking Max as he mimicked her.

His hand grazed her shoulder as he walked away, her phone buzzing moments later.

“Meet me in the kitchen?”

Ignoring Becky’s loud postulating about Alex, she rose to her feet and walked through the heavy kitchen doors, waving at Thomas as she passed through and met up with Alex at the back exit. “What’s up?”

“Your coworker Becky is exactly my type,” he stated, scooping her hand into his as she lifted an unimpressed brow. “Melanie, too. That’s the woman I was with the night you were out with that Spider-Man guy. Same with over a dozen women scattered through the lounge right now, all of which I’ve been with. But you? You are really,reallynot my type.” He released her hand when she yanked her fingers from his grip and crossed her arms. “That was a really bad opener,” he muttered.

She pursed her lips, refusing to show any disappointment or anger despite the growing hurt rising in her chest. “That was a really clear opener,” she corrected, turning away and walking back through the kitchen. “I’m going back to wait for my food.”

Her group had become exponentially noisier when she got back to the table, amplifying the thoughts going through her head. Forcing a smile, she ignored Becky and joined in Max’s conversation with Andy, tossing in a few opinions about underinflated footballs for good measure. When Alex arrived at the table and began passing out plates, she kept her attention on Max, ignoring the gentle nudging of her elbow until he walked away, and her phone buzzed.

“Let me finish?”

She glared at the message.“I’m eating.”

Thomas had prepared her meal exactly as she liked it, the steak and fries not touching, no veggies, and a small plate for her garlic toast. But despite the perfect presentation of her lunch, she found it unappealing, finally succumbing to Max’s insistent attempts to snag her steak. She pushed her plate toward him while she stood and walked over to the bar. “Finish,” she said, placing her hands on the counter.

Alex shifted his stance and shoved his hands into his pockets. “My type knows I’m out the door after I get laid, and they’re cool with it. My type has five others like me waiting in the wings,” he replied, his strange eyes flicking over the lounge. “My type doesn’t even get saved into my phone because there’ll be another one within the week.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and pushed it across the counter toward her. “I have eight numbers in my contacts. Two are my brothers, one is Thomas, one is my RV park office, and the other four are you, Max, the park station, and the national parks emergency line.”

“So you’re a man-whore,” she muttered, refusing to touch his phone. “That’s appealing.”

“Yeah, well, I come from a long line of them,” he retorted under his breath before clearing his throat. “What are you doing tonight?”

She looked over her shoulder, glaring at Becky briefly. “We’re heading to the Washout for a night of debauchery. If you want to meet up, we’ll be there around nine.” She turned and walked back to her table. “And don’t freak out. It’s definitely not a date.”

*

Alex shrugged anunwanted hand from his arm and craned his neck toward the dance floor, scanning the hordes of people until he caught sight of Charlotte. Weaving through the crowd, he made his way toward the group, stopping at the perimeter so he could watch her for a few moments.

He’d screwed up, and he knew it.

His pathetic attempt to meander his way to admitting how much he actually liked her had backfired horribly. The hardening of her dark eyes had been instantaneous, hitting him in the gut with more force than he ever thought a simple look could give. And the speed with which she had frozen him out still had his head spinning.

The logical side of him recognized it as a good thing, the universe reminding him he wasn’t meant for the topside world.

His less rational side, the one that reared up every time he was around her, disagreed.

Becky caught sight of him first, leaning toward Charlotte and pointing. Charlotte gave him a brief smile and a wave before returning her attention to Max and his over-the-top emoting of the dirty lyrics blaring over the sound system. Alex crossed the floor and joined them, risking a harsh rejection as he came up behind her and placed his hands on her hips. When she didn’t miss a beat, he relaxed a fraction and leaned toward her ear. “You look incredible.”

And she did.

Hot damn did she ever.

Black miniskirt, high black boots, and a tight black button down? Yes, please.

She arched her head back to look at him. “We just got here,” she called out over the music, her hips swaying as she reached back and wrapped one arm around his neck.

“Want one?” Max yelled over, passing a beer toward him.

“I’m driving,” he replied, gritting his teeth when Charlotte’s ass pressed against him.

Noticing his problem, Max grinned as he exited the dance floor. “Good luck there, Romeo.”

The song switched to one he had heard a hundred times, and he braced himself for the inevitable squeal of the women in the crowd. Even Charlotte joined in, stepping away from him to join Becky and the others in something he had always deemed the mating call of the clubbers.

But as Charlotte ran her hands down her body and flung her hair back, he felt the full-blown effects of the beat for the first time.

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