Page 50 of Trailer Trash

“Killian,” she hisses.

“What, baby? You’re not tempted, are you?” I play it off well, and she giggles in return.

Perfect.

Frida tries to get my attention, but I shoo her away like a fly. Harlow is here. My curvy, lowly CNA.

I rub small circles on her thigh with my thumb. She grabs my hand. I brace, ready for her to push it off.

She doesn’t.

She squeezes the top of my hand as if she’s preparing to, but stops herself and holds it firmly in place. She stares at her plate.

“I don’t want to like this,” she whispers, more to herself than me.

I slide higher, dragging one fingertip over her pussy, which is warm beneath her scrubs. Her legs part before she can stop them. Her softness and the heat are enough to make me grunt like an animal.

She cups her face, hiding the shame filling her expression.

It’s too damn cute.

This isn’t drunk-Harlow, but I’ll take a buzzed-Harlow any day.

She forces herself to look at me. “Listen, you make this too hard. I have to call your dad after this—”

I cut her off. I already know she wants to quit. I saw it in her eyes at the house.

“How do my scars look?” I ask. “Better?”

She sighs, both of us knowing I’m distracting her. Hesitantly, she studies the biggest line. It’s healing, but not perfectly. Some unevenness has formed, giving the perfect stripe a more gnarled appearance. Her pause tells me what the mirror already has. It isn’t healing right.

She reaches out, and gently, her thumb glides over the uneven surface.

“I think it looks great, Killian,” she murmurs.

“Ya do?”

Her thumb brushes over my split eyebrow. “Yeah, they suit you.”

“How so?”

Her eyes bore into mine, and the words roll off her tongue like a dark confession.

“They’re a beautiful nightmare.”

I flinch. “A nightmare?”

Her voice lowers. “Yeah. A gorgeous man with an ugly story. What I mean is, I like your scars. A lot.”

There’s no pity in her voice. She means it.

And that’s what makes my blood simmer. This woman likes me. She only shows it with a belly full of wine or when another woman touches me. I want her to accept she wants me without either. And say it. Show it. Seems like everyone has to pretend around me.

Her legs cross, she looks away, and the walls go up.

Suddenly, my heart stutters in a way that steals my breath.

You just want to fuck her.