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“Deal.” I furrowed my brow, looking between her and Simone, who didn’t say anything to defend me.
“Very well. I have to go. Be good.”
“Yes, Mom.” Simone laughed behind her as the door slammed shut. She turned to me, shrugging.
I ran my hand along the back of my neck, rubbing at a slightly tense spot in the muscle. “She, uh… doesn’t seem to like me.”
“Yeah, kinda sucks when someone automatically dislikes you without knowing you, huh?” Simone said it with an airy chuckle, but my stomach flipped and soured. From the moment she had walked into the bar, I was set on loathing her.
She had been too good at it—she could make the fancy drinks everyone wanted but nobody ordered, the regulars favored her from the start, and she was winning over each of my friends one at a time. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to like it now, but when the butterflies in my stomach started to riot, I realized I was on the losing side of the battle. I looked down, sighing.
“I probably owe you an apology—”
Simone interrupted me, popping the top off the two glass bottles of beer she’d pulled from the small fridge against the wall outside the kitchen. “Don’t, Logan.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes just slightly longer than a blink. “We both know you don’t hate me. I don’t know why you act like you do.” She winked.
There was an instant composure in her body language, and I blinked twice. When she handed me the beer, her hands were steady. I took a long gulp, and considering how quickly I could chug the whole bottle, surely it would settle the flutters getting more wild by the moment in my stomach.
“Cheers to hating me so much you’re dying to fuck me,” she said, putting the bottle to her lips and tilting it.
I choked on the carbonated gulp, the bubbles burning my esophagus when I tried to take a desperate deep breath between coughing fits. She stared at me, amused, while tears lined my eyes, and by the time I had cleared my airway enough to take a deep breath without coughing, she was laughing.
“I remember my first beer.” She giggled.
I rolled my eyes, taking a slower, more controlled sip. When I didn’t choke again, I followed it up with a larger gulp. Simone continued to giggle. “You’re too easily entertained.” The annoyance in my voice was thick.
“Aw, are you a little sensitive tonight?” She took an unbothered drink from her beer, leaning back against the couch and kicking her feet up on the coffee table.
I dragged my gaze along her exposed legs, taking in the shorts that barely covered her thighs enough to be considered appropriate. The sweatshirt she wore was old and thin, and there was no way it was thick enough to keep her warm. I imagined her wrapping herself in a blanket with goose bumps decorating her skin, and I felt the urge to tell her to put on a pair of pants.
That was the last thing I wanted.
“I’m not sensitive,” I snapped. I was supposed to be annoyed with her, and I tried to remember that, even as I wanted to tear the thin piece of material from her body.
She smirked. “Just admit it, Logan. You’re sensitive.” Simone poked the space on my side just beneath my rib cage, and my body jerked. “And ticklish.” She giggled.
“I’m not either.” I gritted my teeth.
“Oh, really?” She poked me again, and I whipped my head in her direction.
I growled. “Watch yourself, sweetheart,” I warned, barely able to hold back the frustrated laugh that threatened to break loose.
Simone grinned, lifting her finger again. “Or what?”
When she poked me a third time, I grabbed both of her wrists, turning and hovering over her. I pinned her hands above her head, holding them against the couch while she whimpered. Her green eyes were wide, and the deep breaths she desperately sucked into her lungs caused her chest to rise and fall. She swallowed, and my cock stirred.
What the fuck are you doing?
She took a deep breath, one I was jealous of because it touched her lips. “Logan?”
“What?” I choked on the word, clearing my throat. My mouth dried out when she licked her lips.
“I don’t think we should do this.”
Her words crashed into me, sending me back into my seat and away from her. I released her wrists, and I ran my hands through my hair. She wasn’t wrong to tell me no or that she didn’t want this, whatever this was. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
Simone leaned forward, putting her finger over my lips to silence me. “I said I don’t think we should do this, not that we shouldn’t do anything. The way you looked at me. You can’t do that again.” She shook her head back and forth twice, like she was ashamed of herself. She moved her hands pointedly to the buckle on my jeans and busied herself over the metal and leather. “You hate me, Logan. You know it. I know it, and let’s face it, I’m not your biggest fan either.”
She giggled, but my stomach sank. Did she really think I hated her that much? You haven’t done anything to show her otherwise. I sighed, but I didn’t stop her fingers from sliding past my waistband and tracing it to the zipper.
