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I hate that I remember what it was like to sit next to him that first day and that invisible tug in my belly when his eyes met mine. How badly I ached to close the distance between us.
“This isn’t just tonight, Georgie… It’s real. Tell me you feel it too.”
“Are you growling at me?” he asks quietly, that hooked half smile pulling into the real thing.
Why is this guy so happy?
He should be slow-roasting over a pit of guilt and self-loathing.
“No.”
He leans closer, issuing ahmmnear my ear that reverberates all the way through me. “I think you were. Such a fiery little thing.” He sits back. “I like it.”
“Don’t care what you like.” I sound like a child, and that he’s driven me to it gets added to the ever-growing list of things I hate about him.
“Like that too.” The guy actually purrs, shooting me a look packed with the kind of smolder a less-informed girl might melt over.
Not me. Not ever again.
* * *
Quinn
From the firstnight in the hospital, I knew this chick hated me.
Logic dictates I let her go, walk away. Find some eager bunny just dying to bounce on my lap for a while. But apparently logic left the building the night I met George.
And it’s not like I’m one of those guys who gets off on being abused or like I’ve never been able to walk away from a challenge either. I have. Plenty of times. But the challengethisgirl offers is like nothing I’ve felt before. And I want her.
Which means I’ll take any kind of attention I can get.
I’ve tried talking to her. Tried being sociable and looking at her like a friend instead of the girl I’m dying to get a taste of. But whatever epic grudge she’s nursing is too great, and every decent, respectful, legitimate interest I show in her as a human being makes her distrust me all the more.
Nice doesn’t net results.
But what does? Giving her what she expects. A guy who’s nothing but game. And hello, negative attention is better than no attention at all.
So I’ve become a toddler. Or a total douche. Probably the latter. But hell, if it gets me one of those sizzle-and-burn scowls or a taste of that sharp tongue… then so be it. I’m in.
“So Georgeous, what’s good here… besides you?”
Doug coughs out a laugh from my other side, but I’m all about George.
Her head cranks around, her eyes burning like the embers of hell. So hot.
“Whatdid you just call me?”
Shit. “Georgeous? Yeah, well if the shoe fits.” Crash and burn, man. Crash and burn. I shouldn’t have said it out loud, but every time I see her, it slides through my mind. Still, there’s my negative attention. Even if that one wasn’t totally intentional.
“Are you serious right now?”
Just about her. “Nah, I’ve been here before. Everything’s good,” I say, reaching for the small bar menu wedged up against the exposed brick wall beside her. No touching, because that would be bullshit. But an unobstructed close-up of the arm I’ve caught her staring at a time or two, why not?
Sure enough, her eyes go a little hazy as I linger a few seconds longer than necessary. And when she eventually looks up at me,I wink.
“God, I hate you,” she mutters, clear enough for me to hear, but probably not the rest of the table.
“You sure?” I ask, sitting back. “Because it kind of seems like you might like me. Just a little.”
