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Well, none of it was any of her business. Time to get inside and get some coffee brewing to warm herself from the inside out. Just as she shoved the key in the lock, her phone rang. After digging it out of her overstuffed purse she held it to her ear without looking at the screen.
Her mistake.
“Crawly, really?” Screw’s disgusted voice entered her ear, stopped at her nipples to perk them up, then continued straight to her pussy which fucking fluttered at the sound.
Damn him.
Key still sticking out of her door, Jazz sighed. “What are you talking about, Screwball?”
“You put your fucking lips on Crawly. Let him put his lips on you.”
Jazz pinched the bridge of her nose as an ache began to form between her eyes. Of course the pain, it did nothing to squash the arousal brought on by his voice and the memory of another pair of lips on her. A set of lips that she’d given into in one very needy moment a few weeks back.
Another mistake because now that memory popped up at the most inconvenient times.
Like now.
“Okay, buddy, first of all where and on who my lips land is none of your business. And second of all, what the fuck are you talking about? Who the hell is Crawly?”
Screw practically growled as he said, “Jeremy Crawly. That pansy-assed mother fucker who was on your doorstep five fucking seconds ago.”
What the…
Jazz spun, scanning the street for an annoying biker. “You spying on me now?”
“That the kind of man you’re looking for?”
He wasn’t on her street. At least not in sight. Screw wasn’t subtle enough to be hiding in the bushes or some nonsense like that. He was too loud and too proud to hide from anyone. Had he actually been there, he’d probably have stormed out the moment she kissed Jeremy’s cheek and laid some ridiculous claim on her.
Your stomach did not just flutter at the thought of being Screw’s, you stupid silly girl.
She continued to scan the street, consciously ignoring Screw’s question, and as her eyes passed over the navy truck in front of her house, she scowled. “Really, you traitor?” she yelled at Monty.
When the prospect shrugged through the foggy windows, she flipped him off then stormed into her house. “Not that I owe you any explanations, asshole, but it was a kiss on the damn cheek to thank him for getting the snow off my driveway before I got home from work. He didn’t want me to do it myself and freeze my tits off. I didn’t see you out there actually doing something for someone else.”
“I was on my way with my blower when I got called into Copper’s office. He wanted to meet with me but was fine with waiting until I was done at your house. I called Monty to tell him to either sit on you so you wouldn’t shovel or get his lazy ass out of the truck and start shoveling until I got there. He let me know Crawly had already completed the job.”
If she were in a movie, the background noise would be a whistling sound as the wind left her sails. Every time she put Screw in the box called careless womanizer, he went and did something to surprise her.
Of course, ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time it was with the end goal of getting laid, which kinda negated the whole good deed thing.
“Damn you, Screw,” Jazz said as she sagged. Her back hit the closed door with a heavy thud she’d have felt if it weren’t for the thickness of her puffy jacket. “How many times do I have to tell you—”
“I know you’re not gonna fuck me if I shovel your driveway, Jazzy.”
“But you thought I’d fuck Jeremy for it?”
“What? No, shit.” He actually sounded frustrated with himself. “Look, I may like to fuck and it’s no goddamn secret that I want to fuck you, but I’m not an asshole. You hate the cold and live by yourself. You don’t have a blower and there’s about four inches out there. It’d have taken you all goddamned day to shovel, and who the hell knows if Monty is worth anything.”
“He’s been prospecting for two months.”
Screw snorted. “That don’t mean shit. The fucker’s got a long way to go before patching in.”
True enough.
Jazz sighed and the silence between them grew heavy.
“A thank you kiss on the cheek, huh?”
Jazz stared at the ceiling, willing herself to end the call. Just a quick goodbye and the push of one button and this conversation would be over and she could focus on not thinking about Screw for the rest of the day. But did she do that?
Nope.
Of course not. That would be logical. Healthy, even.
“Yes. I’m not interested in Jeremy.” What the hell was wrong with her? Maybe the cold has frozen all the parts of her brain responsible for rational thinking.
