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Because, let’s face it, this woman is hot and sizzling. She knows it, and I like that. Though, I’m thinking maybe I like the type that doesn’t know it more. Especially if that type has summer forest eyes and wears glasses and a backpack full of secrets.
“Yeah?”
“I think your little charity case left.”
I sigh. “Do you need something?”
I’m not fucking rude, and yet, right now, I’m just that and Lissa doesn’t deserve it.
“Mack Burns,” she says, long-lashed, mascara-laden eyes swishing down over me, “do you like your little charity case?”
“She’s a pain in my ass.”
Lissa squeezes my ass and slides into me, those soft, generous tits on display if I look down and partake. Her spicy, feminine scent winds around my senses, cloying instead of evocative.
“You do.” Then she slaps my ass hard and steps back. “Pity. Thought we could have some more fun, maybe see . . .” She stops, sighs, and points one glossy-nailed hand to the side door. “That way.”
I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Lissa.”
“Call if it doesn’t work.”
I give her a salute and head out, weaving through the crowd.
Even if it doesn’t work—of course, it won’t because I know almost nothing about Sidney, and she’s only here because I’m fucking lying to her—I’m not calling Lissa.
I think my tastes have changed in the past few days.
Since the fire.
Cool air hits me in the shadowed area on the side of the bar. Couples come here. I’ve come here. Made out back in the day. A couple of months ago, but who the fuck’s counting? Lissa?
I don’t see Sidney at any of the little tables or in the arms of some dude that isn’t me.
So, I move past them and round to the front. But people are smoking, laughing, flirting, and no fucking pretty little thing with my name all over her.
A raised voice in the lot nabs my attention, and I narrow my eyes.
It sounds a lot like the voice of a New York princess if you ask me. So, I follow it, and there she is, pressed against a Jeep on the far side. A big tree throwing a shadow, but I can see her and the fuckwit who’s all hands and head bent in close.
I stride over and lean against the hood. “Ya might wanna check with the lady if she likes that,” I say conversationally. “She’s a princess, doesn’t like to be treated like a . . .well, actually, in my experience, no woman likes to be treated like some kinda fuckin’ two-bit whore.”
“Fuck off.” The guy doesn’t even look at me. He’s a walking forest fire if ever I’ve smelled one. A flick of a lighter and those fumes he’s breathing out will go up like a bonfire.
Pity I don’t smoke.
Pity I like not to burn the planet to ash.
“You okay, Princess? Want me to leave?”
“Mack—”
“She’s with me,” the guy says, more of a slur than real speech.
“You with him, Sidney?”
She shoves at him, and I’m not sure which of us is madder right now, me or her. I think it’s a close photo finish. “What do you think? And let me go!”
“No, baby, jus’ one lil’ kiss.” This guy isn’t too fond of his balls, I’m thinking. Or his life.
