Or I’m drunk as shit.
Her scent wafts around me, like ripe peaches from the South. I itch to stick my nose in her neck but settle for soaking in the elegant lines of her throat, the shapely shoulders, the lush curve of her waist. I imagine her naked on my bed, her midnight hair spilling on white sheets.
The truth is I haven’t had sex since I broke up with a girl a few months ago, and with football starting, I haven’t had time to meet anyone. I’m starved for something (or someone) to take my attention away from the block of cement on my chest. Most days I’m able to ignore that pressure, but my birthday just brings it all full circle, a stark reminder of everything wrong in my life.
She taps her chin. “Snow White is a high-class call girl who keeps a burn book of anyone who’s ever crossed her. She has revenge plans for every entry, and she’s the kind of girl who’ll accomplish her goals. She’s jaded but wants to fall in love.”
“Nice. You win.” I toast her, then order us tequila shots. Three each. We slam them back at the same time, then suck the limes.
“All right. My turn to pick someone.” Her gaze stops on Jasper. He’s sitting by the pool, his feet dangling in the water as one topless Cinderella massages his shoulders while her twin is in the pool giving him a foot rub. “Him. The skeevy guy with the blond hair.”
My lips twitch. “Perfect.”
“In high school, he was a wrestler, but now he’s a shoe salesman. He uses social media to troll for women who love micropenises.”
I burst out laughing. Jasper does have a contract with a sneaker company.
Her lips curve up. “Ah, Player, you have a great laugh.”
“Really?”
Her voice softens. “Thank you. Again. You’re so great.”
Unease stirs inside of me. Shit. I’m not. I mean, this started as a bet. I doubt I would have noticed her if she hadn’t bumped into me.
My breath hitches when she leans her head on my shoulder, trust in her ocean-blue eyes.
“Okay, now you do him,” she murmurs as she crooks her arm inside my elbow. “Wait! Can I touch you? Oh my God, I forgot to ask!”
My lids lower. “Yeah. And I can touch you?”
“Please,” she murmurs.
I tear my eyes off her and watch Jasper, chuckling as the woman rubbing his feet tickles him and he cries out like a girl. “He’s an athlete, but it’s bowling.” He hates bowling.
“I don’t know. He obviously lives in the gym—”
“I’m not done, smarty.”
She makes a flourish with her hands. “By all means, sir, please continue . . .”
“He’s the kind of guy who eats food in his bed, like cookies and crackers and popcorn, then sleeps on top of it without a care in the world.” He’s been staying with me temporarily, and I’ve seen his eating habits. Food falls out of his mouth when he talks; then there’s the trash he leaves everywhere.
She giggles. “You never eat in bed?”
“Food belongs in the kitchen.” I flash a smile. “He’s also proud of his penis. He’s named it.”
“What?”
“Cupid. Because every girl who gets the arrow falls in love.”
“You win!” she calls out as she laughs, her face upturned to me.
A zing of electricity hits me. I like her lips. Her emotional eyes. My fingers trace the curve of her cheek, grazing down her throat to her chest. I stop at her neckline, caressing the outline. “You’re beautiful.”
She slides off her seat, settles between my legs, and wraps her arms around my neck. “Thank you, my prince.”
“You’re welcome, my princess,” I say huskily as her breasts press against my chest.
“Are you wicked?” she murmurs as she tugs my hair free from the bun and presses a soft kiss to my jawline.
A deep, primitive sound comes from my throat. “Hmm, very.”
“Good.” She pulls on my gray necktie, then removes it slowly. She runs the silk through her fingers, brings it to her nose, and then tucks it inside her bodice. “My souvenir.”
“If you get to keep one, then I want one.”
“I’m your souvenir.”
My blood heats at her words, rising higher as she undoes the top button of my shirt, then another. She stops at the third one, spreading the fabric. Heat flashes over me as she kisses the bump where my shoulder was dislocated.
“Now do me.” She gazes up at me. “Who am I?”
I blink as my head refocuses off sex and stumbles through the alcohol in my system to recall our previous conversation. “You’re smart. Your career is probably something artsy. You’re wearing a locket which holds a photo of someone you lost.” I pause, remembering her tattoo with the bent wing. I graze my fingers over the yellowing bruise on her arm. I’ve seen worse, she said. “Someone has hurt you before, and if you tell me who, I will make sure he never does again.”
The air around us thickens as our eyes hold; then she glances away.
Splaying my fingers on her cheek gently, I tug her jaw back. “Hey. I shouldn’t have said the last part. I shouldn’t assume.”
Her black lashes lower. “Maybe it’s because we’re strangers that you feel you can say those things. We don’t know each other. We can spill secrets, then let it go tomorrow.”
“So I was right?” The protective alpha inside me stirs.
“No one hurts me anymore,” she murmurs. “I’m different now. Stronger.”
“My little brave princess.” I ease the veil off her head and arrange her hair around her shoulders and chest, trailing my fingers through the sleek thickness. Her head instinctively leans into my palm when I cup her cheek. She kisses my palm, and scorching lust that’s been building since she slid between my legs sizzles like an electrical line dropped in my skull.
My thumb brushes her bottom lip as I picture my cock sliding between those plump petals. “Do me.”
Chapter 3
TUCK
Her pale-blue eyes devour me, from my backward hat and heavy scruff to my expensive leather loafers. She takes my hands, traces the calluses, and then drags her index finger from the tip of my middle finger to my palm. She unsnaps the black leather cuff I wear and strokes the ragged scars on the underside of my wrist, lingering for a moment, then dips her head and kisses them.
It’s barely even a touch, and I groan.
She looks up. “You work with your hands. Maybe you’re a carpenter or own a construction company, a successful one judging by your suit. You don’t have a faded line on your ring finger, so you’re not married. You’re a physical person and not a stranger to fighting.” Her eyes trail back up and lock with me. She laces both of our hands together and chews on her bottom lip, and I can’t see her true expression, but . . .
“What is it?” I ask softly, sensing her hesitation.
She presses our masks together, nose to nose, and stares at me. “You have the most incredible eyes, green with yellow sparks. Tiger eyes. I see a dark side there.”
I huff out an uneasy laugh. “What? No.”
Her lips quirk. “We all have darkness. People you see on the street, people you work with, people you love, people you hate. If there’s no darkness, then there’s no room for light. And when that darkness hits you, and it will, all that matters is that you keep going, one step at a time until you’re up and back on your journey.” She dips her head, sneaking a glance at me. “Sorry. Tequila makes me chatty.”