Page 28 of Hard to Score

“Do you like mustard, son?” she asks Drew. “I bet you do. Loving mustard is a sign of being stubborn. And stubborn lovers are the best kind.” She shivers as if she’s reliving a memory before a grin slides onto her lips. “Am I right?”

“No. We’re not. He’s not.” My words fail me.

“We’re just friends,” Drew says and I hate the way that word makes me feel. Almost like we’re back playing spin the bottle in Deadman’s Cove when we were teenagers. When he made sure that everyone knew we were just friends.

The rejection tastes just as bitter now as it did back then.

The difference? The difference is this time I have confidence and a backbone.

“You do have quite an active imagination, Mildred, but I hate to disappoint you. Drew is someone I knew way back when, when we were just kids.”

“Even better.” She rubs her hands together. “There’s still time for some fireworks to happen yet.”

We both chuckle politely as the awkwardness grows between us.

“It’s been nice catching up with him, but if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to go mingle.”

I stand and down the rest of my wine, setting the glass down without caring what I look like to those at the table.

There seems to be some fun happening on the dance floor outside and it’s time to let loose and do the same.

Screw Drew Bowman.

He can be attractive and sexy all he wants. He can have a laugh that makes you smile and an intellect that makes you think.

But he doesn’t get to be a dick to me.

I didn’t need him before, and I sure as hell don’t need him now.

CHAPTER TWELVE

DREW

I WASN’T ASKING FOR ANYTHING more than friendship.

Her voice—those lips—saying that phrase repeats over and over in my head.

Especially when every time I look up, she’s right there, front and center, shaking her ass on the dance floor.

Who the fuck am I kidding? I haven’t looked down once. Hell, I haven’t taken my eyes off her. I feel like the creepy asshole standing in the darkness of the patio, leaning against the rail with a drink in my hand, staring at her.

Friendship, my ass.

Is that what’s bugging me? That friendship is the last thing on my mind when it comes to this woman and yet that’s what she asserted? That’s why I’m pissed?

Or is it just the plain question of who is this woman?

She’s so very different from the teenage girl who feared being the center of attention. The one who shied away from groups and preferred her romance novels to interaction at times. The wallflower who is most definitely now shining.

She is in the middle of the dance floor with her arms in the air, her head thrown back, and her hips swaying to the beat in a way that should be illegal. Talk about breathtaking.

Confident.

Sexy.

Stunning.

I can’t take my eyes off her when every part of me knows I need to.