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Anger flares bright and hot. He’s too close, he smells way too good, and damn him. That kiss is back, the sense of memory almost overwhelming.
“Fine,” I say, hissing the word. “You’re hot. You’re fantasy material. On the outside. But inside? No.”
“What the fuck, Sarah? You don’t even know me.”
“I know your type. I know enough. You’re nothing but a man who wears a tie as a veneer of sophistication but treats women like two-bit hookers, like garbage, when you’re done.”
“How would you even know?”
On a roll, I ignore him. “You don’t even remember the women you sleep with, do you?”
He answers me, and I’m shocked. “I do. Mostly.”
That makes it all so much worse, the fact I’m one of those that he forgot. The best sex I’ve ever had, the kind of sex that ruins a woman for other men, and I’m not even a blip on the radar for him.
I want to scream, but I manage to keep it down. But the insult of that burns deep enough it scars.
“I need to go.”
“You know I know there’s night staff, right? I know these things. You’ve told me. Dakota told me.”
“Yes. Handpicked, by me and her, and I need to go and check on them, on the place. It’s early days, and I don’t coast on a fancy degree and charm.”
“And fuck you, too, Sarah. Jesus.” He glares down at me but doesn’t move.
I poke him hard. “Get out of my way and we’ll put that . . . incident—”
“Hot kiss that had you panting for more?”
“—behind us.” I want to step around him, though it seems I’m frozen in place, unable to do so.
“Running again.” He doesn’t move, but doesn’t move to touch me, either. “How boring of you.”
“Screw you.”
“You want to, we both know it.”
Heat flares hot all under my skin and I want to flap the T-shirt under my hoodie to get some of the cool night air on me.
“Want? What I want is for you to leave me alone. Don’t talk to me again. I don’t need you harassing me about wanting something that I’m not interested in.” I shove him out of the wayand jam the key in the door lock. “And you’re fired. You owe me a dollar. I’ll find another attorney.”
And with that, I pull open the door, get in the truck, and drive away.
Chapter Sixteen
Leland
“Your friend,” I say to Dakota, who’s cleaning up with Lawson in the kitchen when I go back in, “is frustrating as all get-out.”
On the table is the bourbon and glasses, but Lawson turns and shakes his head as I reach for one, and he points at his fiancée.
She turns, glares at him, and then at me. “Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with men?”
“What the fuck is wrong with us? We’re just men, Wildcat.” Lawson runs his fingers down along his neat, short beard and tries for placating. “Guess you could say we’re crazy?”
But she gives with a withering look, the kind that would send most men for the hills. Not Lawson. Damn but they’re perfect for each other.
I’m also getting to know Dakota well enough to know that she’s beyond pissed and it seems to be aimed at me.
