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“Is that what you want?”
“It’s obvious that’s what you want.” The accusation hangs between us, presenting a challenge.
The corner of his mouth lifts into a sexy grin. “Why lie? But I didn’t bring you out here to fuck you.”
“Why did you?”
“Because I wanted to be the one you spent your time with under the stars,” he teases with a playful lilt in his voice.
My heart flips. A little laugh escapes my throat. “You want me to fall in love with you?”
His gaze lingers on my lips, intensifying the moment. The food forgotten, my heartbeat seems to echo above the wind's whispers and the distant chirps of crickets.
As the silence stretches, my thoughts wander to the reflection of the moon on the lake, casting a silver glow that dances across the water's surface. The soft ripples, the wind's caress, the memory of a kiss that left tingles lingering on my lips. But then...
What am I doing?
A guy like Valen must have countless girls fall for him. He could never fall in love with a girl like me.
Sleep with me, maybe?
Say the right things, always.
It’s what guys like him do. It’s in their DNA. We both know I’m not his type, and I’m sure it’s one of the reasons my brother warned me to stay away so I don’t end up being one of the girls he leaves depressed with a broken heart. It would make sense for my brother to worry after the way I reacted to Zack.
“What are you thinking about?”
I inwardly cringe within myself. He purposely ignored my last question. Of course he would.
Don’t fall for it, Melody?
“I’m thinking… It’s getting late, and I should be heading back.”
His gaze drifts to the lake, contemplative, as if weighing his next words. I should have never left with him. I shouldn’t have let him kiss me.
But I did.
After he follows me to my trailer, I push down the embarrassment that he can see how I live.
“You should really think about moving,” he suggests.
I snort. “You sound like my brother.”
“And I’m sure everyone who visits you.”
I open the small door. “Except my landlord.”
He looks toward the old house, with the broken-down Plymouth still parked over the cracked driveway and overgrown grass.
“He’s still alive?” he teases. “I thought old man Crosby kicked the bucket.”
“You know him?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Who doesn’t. He’s like a hundred years old, but a nice old man. He likes you if he lets you stay on his property, and he likes the fact that you’re paying him. I hope he isn’t hustling you.”
I shake my head. “Why does everyone have a problem with where I live?”
“Why did you move out of your parents’ house?”
