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The day we made love under the oak tree. I’d seen her. So much that I realized I liked her more than I should. Enough to stay in town. Which had been the last thing I wanted to do.
But now, I’m back, and I’m not afraid to notice Bex.
“What do you want to happen?” I let my gaze travel down her front. The olive lace dress clenches to her body and hugs her breasts and ass.
“I just wanted to drop off shampoo for your dad and get back to my day.” She’s sassier than I remember.
Bold.
Outgoing.
Not afraid to speak.
I like it.
Her eyes widen. “Does the trio know you’re back in town?”
The trio? Why the fuck are we talking about the trio? I can think of a list of more constructive things we can be doing. And all of them include stripping off her clothes and pinning her against the shower wall. Vibrations of desire thrum inside me.
“Johnny?” She snaps her fingers in my face. “Were they here? At your dad’s house? Let’s say before you got in the shower?”
“They dropped off cinnamon buns from Brewed with a View. How did you know?”
An angry rumble of a laugh bubbles out of her. “Those three witches.”
“That’s a little harsh.”
“You saw their outfits!”
“Right. They were dressed up as witches. I’m really not putting it all together.” I’m a little distracted by the water glistening off her skin.
Her eyes carry a distracted look as if she’s somewhere else. “The morning, you know, we hooked up—”
“Yeah, I remember.” The memories raise the corner of my mouth into a crooked smile.
She scowls at me. “You were driving me to the lighthouse, and I asked them about the love spice. And they must’ve put it together.”
“Put what together?”
Her confused eyes zero in on me. “I laced our cupcakes with the love spice. You and I shared the love spice.”
“You drugged me?”
She scoffs. “It didn’t work. You screwed me, but then you took off on your bike and never looked back.”
“I looked back.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care. What I do care about is three old croons manipulating me with nothing better to do than try and slap people together.”
“I wouldn’t call it screwing either.”
She blinks at me. “Gotten soft in your old age.”
“I’m hardly old.”
“You’re not young either.”
“Making me experienced.” I touch the flesh of her collarbone.
