Текст книги "Cardinal"
Автор книги: Sara Mack
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
“Where are your shoes?”
I stop my swinging legs and look at my socks. “I was getting ready for bed.”
“I told you not to fall asleep.”
My eyes swing from my feet to his face. “You’re not the boss of me.”
A slow smile takes over his features.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Cue the dimple. “Well, you do work for me, so ... I am the boss of you.”
He thinks he’s clever. “Very funny. That title only applies inside the walls of Torque. Outside, I’m just Jen and you’re just ...” I look him over. “You.” A very handsome, talented you wearing the Take Me Home t-shirt again, my mind adds.
“I’m glad you said that.” Latson moves over and ends up an inch closer to me. He produces his phone. “Can I get your number now?”
“Sure.” I recite my cell. He enters it, then says, “I’ll text you so you have mine.”
I don’t think twice about it.
As he’s busy tapping letters, I look over the city again. “Is that what you wanted to talk about? You could have asked for my number through the window.”
“I thought the fire escape would be romantic,” he teases. “I am, you know. In case you didn’t get the message earlier.”
“No, I got it,” I say. Every inch of me got it.
He puts his phone away. “So, what did you think?”
“Of the message?”
He nods.
I assume he wants me to tell him I dissolved into a puddle of goo, so I decide to mess with him. I let my voice get breathy and lower my lashes, channeling my inner Marilyn. “I ... I think ...” I turn toward him and slowly run one finger over the tattoos on his arm. “I think you’re an amazing singer.”
At first he looks puzzled, but then his confusion melts into satisfaction. I purposefully bite my lower lip and try to look seductive. He follows suit. His lowers his eyelids and stares at mouth, playing along. “Tell me how amazing I am.”
“Soooo amazing,” I repeat. I take my time trailing my finger back up his arm and pick up my breathing as I do. I lean forward, like I want to whisper in his ear. “I have something else to tell you. I can’t keep it inside. Not anymore.”
Latson meets my eyes and brings his hand to the side of my face. “Tell me, baby.”
I arch an eyebrow and bring my lips to his ear. “You’re a fucking liar.”
He quickly leans back and I poke him in the shoulder. “Why did you pretend to hate Ed?! You. Don’t. Mess. With. Ed!” I poke him in between each word.
Latson laughs and grabs my wrist.
“You suck,” I say.
He pulls me close. “I’ve been told I suck quite well, actually.”
It takes me a second to recover from his comment. I frown. “Talking about your sexual escapades will not get you into another woman’s pants.”
“Who’s talking about sex?”
“You are.”
He grins. “No. I was talking about popsicles.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Look who has the dirty mind,” he muses. “Maybe you’re the one trying to get into my pants.”
I need to redirect this conversation. “Fess up,” I say. “Tell me about Ed.”
He releases me a little. “I pretended not to like him because I could tell you did. It made you mad.” He turns my wrist over and kisses the inside of it. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
What just happened?
I pull my arm from this grasp and lean back. “I’m cute when I’m angry? That’s your excuse? I’d rather you think I was cute when I’m not pissed off.”
“I already do, but ...” He winks. “Noted.”
Okay. He’s kissed me and called me cute. He can’t be that desperate to hook up with someone. I’m sure Pete has warned him off me, just like he’s warned me off him.
Latson changes topics. “Honestly, though. What did you think? You play. Could you tell I haven’t performed in two years?”
I’m surprised. “No, not at all. You rocked that stage.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t play dumb. You owned the crowd. If I had a quarter of the talent you have ...” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t be standing behind a bar.”
Latson looks intrigued. “You don’t like your job?”
“It’s not that. Bartending pays the bills.”
“But?”
“But, it’s not a career. I can’t be seventy and slinging drinks from my Amigo.”
He laughs. “Then what would you rather do?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know.” I shrug. “Even as a kid, I didn’t know. After graduation, I got a job at a diner and my future was written.” I remember the constant questions from my parents and relatives. They always wanted to know when I was going to get a “real” job.
Latson nods in understanding. “I never knew, either. At least your parents didn’t pressure you. Mine were set on Columbia, followed by med school. I dropped out after the first semester.” He pauses. “Scratch that. I didn’t even make it through the first semester. I only left the dorm for parties and band practice.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I take it your dad wanted you to follow in his surgical footsteps?”
“He didn’t think I’d amount to anything as a musician.” Latson smirks. “I got to prove him wrong. For a few years, anyway.”
I don’t know what to say. I know his father is a sore spot.
“Have you considered playing?” Latson asks me.
“You mean professionally? No.”
“Why not? You could do local gigs.”
I laugh. “I’d never be able to support myself. No one would show up.”
“I’d show up,” he says and my pulse quickens. “You could always start at Torque,” he adds. “The stage is yours. Just tell me when you want it.”
I can’t lie. Performing there would be a rush. However ... “I don’t think so. I’m nowhere near your level or Dean’s.”
“You underestimate yourself,” Latson says. “You feel the music. It means something to you. Dean said it best: you’re a natural.”
Music does mean something to me. How many hours have I spent playing for fun, or to calm my nerves, or to forget something bad? “It’s my escape,” I confess.
Latson gives me a small, commiserative smile. “I know what you mean.”
A few silent moments pass before he looks down, his eyes landing on my hand. The heel is pressed to the fire escape and my fingers are curled over the edge. Slowly, he reaches over and traces two fingers over my skin. It’s the lightest of touches, yet heat blazes up my arm.
“You know,” he says, “I have a room upstairs I think you might like.”
Where did that come from? We were just sharing our pasts. I bite my lip.
“Do you want to see it?” he asks.
His eyes meet mine and they smolder. I never thought I would use that word, but it’s the only word to describe them. They burn. He can’t be asking what I think he’s asking.
Can he?
“I … I still work for you,” I stutter.
“You’re still hung up on that?” His fingers travel to my wrist. “Outside of Torque, I’m me and you’re you. You said it yourself.”
Shit. My mind races. “Oliver’s sleeping.”
Latson’s gaze goes back to his fingers, and his voice drops to a whisper. “So many excuses.” He leans toward me. “Why don’t you want to see my guitars?”
I snap out of it. “What?”
His pulls his hand away. “I have a room full of guitars upstairs.” He raises an eyebrow. “What did you think I was talking about?”
I can’t believe I fell for that. “You’re an asshole.”
He pretends to be shocked. “You were thinking dirty again, weren’t you?”
“Ugh!” I jerk away from him. “You’re impossible.”
He laughs. “I couldn’t help it. You dished it out first, so I had to give it back.”
Whatever.
As my racing heart returns to normal, it takes my remaining energy with it. Working a full day after being off, along with the night’s crazy emotional highs, has left me drained. It has to be after five a.m. by now. I try to stretch my back by twisting to the side. “My bed is calling me,” I say.
“My bed is calling you, too.”
I shoot Latson an annoyed look. “You can stop now.” I start to stand. “Unless you want a zombie working the bar tomorrow, I need sleep.”
Latson gets to his feet and follows me to my window. “We wouldn’t want that. I can’t hit on you if you’re not in the mood.”
I snort. “Why don’t I think my mood would stop you?” I crouch down, sit my butt on the window ledge, and swing my legs inside.
Latson kneels down. “I meant what I said about performing. You’d be great. Think about it.”
It would be impossible not to. “Thanks. I will.” I hop down into my bedroom and turn around. “Have a good night. Or morning. Or whatever it is,” I say.
He gives me a small smile. “You, too.”
His legs disappear when I close the blinds. As I finish getting ready for bed, my phone beeps and I dig it out of my bag to silence it. I see Latson’s earlier text:
Here is my number. You should save it under ‘Ed’ so you’ll confuse me with your boyfriend.
He wants me to confuse him with Ed? I text back: Ed doesn’t like to share.
Minutes later, after I’ve crawled beneath the covers, he sends another message.
Then you should dump his ass.
I text back. For who? You? Pete said you don’t do commitment.
He replies: I think I should start.
Chapter Twelve
I scowl at my phone. I’m pretty sure I made the same face this morning when my brother farted during breakfast. I had to stop myself from asking Jules why she agreed to marry his gross ass, but I kept my mouth shut. She doesn’t know I’m aware of their secret.
“Looks like there’s a problem.”
I stop reading Tricia’s email and glance up. “Hey, Dean.”
He takes a seat at the bar. “Everything all right?”
I turn off my cell and slide it into my back pocket. “My insurance agent has no news for me.” I wipe my hands on a bar towel. “What can I get you?”
“Insurance agent? Were you in a wreck?” He settles on the stool. “I’ll take a Two Hearted Ale, please.”
“No. There was a fire at my apartment building.” I walk over to the cooler and grab his beer. “I’ve been waiting to find out when I can go home.” Setting the edge of the bottle cap against the edge of the bar, I slam my hand down to open it, then give it to him. “I’ve been crashing with my brother for the last three weeks.”
Dean looks curious. “Where is home?”
“Michigan.”
Latson walks up behind Dean and claps him on the shoulder. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”
Dean nods as he raises his beer to his lips.
“What’s tonight?” I ask.
“Small gathering at my place.” Latson meets my eyes as he leans against the bar. “You’re coming.”
“I am?” This is the first I’ve heard of it.
“Yep. Pete, Jules, Gwen, Carter, Felix ... they’ll all be there. When Dean’s in town we hang out.”
News to me. Oh! I hope Heidi’s invited, I think sarcastically.
“What’s up with your shirt?” Dean eyes Latson. “I’ve never seen you wear purple.”
Latson looks down at his chest. Today he’s sporting a dark purple tee that reads Will do nude scenes. “I thought you quit doing porn,” Dean jokes.
“I’m trying to send subliminal messages to someone. She’s being stubborn,” Latson says.
Dean immediately assumes it’s me and tips his bottle in my direction. “Could this be the same someone who doubted your romantic tendencies?”
“The very one.”
My mouth falls open.
“You’re working hard for this girl,” Dean says. “Are you sure she’s worth it?”
“She’s starting to crack,” Latson replies. “She has this weird hang up about me being her boss.”
Dean shrugs. “Then fire her.”
“Oh, I’ve considered it.”
He what? I put my hands on my hips. “I’m standing right here.”
They both ignore me.
“So, what time tonight?” Dean sets his bottle on the bar top.
“We close early, so around ten,” Latson says. “Unless you want to leave now. I have some things to pick up.”
“Sounds good. Let me finish this.” Dean indicates his beer.
Latson looks at me. “Are you hungry?”
I glance over my shoulder to see if someone else is behind me. “Are you talking to me? I thought I was invisible.”
“Yes, I’m talking to you.”
I could use food, but I decide to get sassy. “Are you buying?”
“That depends.” Latson tries to look innocent. “Are you putting out?”
I pick up the bottle cap from Dean’s beer and throw it at him. It bounces off his shirt, under the word scenes. “Is that all you think about?”
Latson and Dean look at each other. Dean says “Yeah” as Latson says “Pretty much.”
I sigh. Men.
Two guys approach the bar and I move over to help them. As they decide what they want, I hear Latson tell Dean, “She didn’t say no.”
Dean laughs. “Way to stay optimistic, bro.”
By the time I finish with the guys, Latson is gone. I serve a few more drinks before Dean empties his bottle and sets it on the bar. I grab it as I walk by.
“You know,” Dean says. “You should give him a shot.”
I stop. “Why’s that?”
“Because he hasn’t fallen for someone in a long time.”
I’m skeptical. “Nothing has happened between us to make him fall anywhere.”
Dean gives me a pointed look. “Trust me. Something did.”
“Um, Miss?”
A customer interrupts us for service, and Dean stands. “I’ll let you get back to work. See you later.”
Yeah, I mull over his words. See you later.
~~~~
After the bar closes, Pete and I head home to change and grab Jules for tonight’s soiree. My brother doesn’t bring up his feelings on the topic, and I don’t ask. I’m not sure if he feels better about me spending time around Latson because of our talk, or because he’ll be in attendance. Regardless, back at the apartment, I take a few minutes to comb through my hair until it lies in waves around my face. I touch up my lips and eyes before changing into jean shorts and my black White Stripes tank top. I want to look like I care, but not too much. This is the second time I’ve hung out with these people socially; they’re becoming a bigger part of my life than I had planned. I’d rather they see me in something else besides the standard Torque attire.
When the three of us are ready, we head upstairs and Pete knocks on Latson’s door. It cracks open, and one tiny, brown eye appears. It grows wide when it sees us, and Oliver throws open the door. “Hi!” He immediately reaches for my hand. “Jen’s on my team,” he announces as he pulls.
“Team?” I ask.
“For war,” he states.
I let him drag me over the threshold, then look back at Jules and Pete. “War?”
“You’ll see.” Jules smiles.
I follow Oliver as we pass through the living room. I notice Dean and Felix are sitting on one of the couches, and Gwen and Kenzie are here as well. They say hi, and I wave with my free hand as Oliver keeps walking.
“O.” I hear Latson’s voice. “Don’t forget to show her how to reload.”
I look over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of Latson standing in the kitchen. He holds up what looks like a Nerf gun and gives me a challenging nod.
What is going on?
Oliver and I make it to his bedroom, and he shuts the door. I look around, remembering the action figures and the Minecraft poster. “Okay.” He lets go of my hand and skips over to his bed. “I have almost every gun. I even have the Zombie Strike Crossbow.” He picks it up and shows me. “But it only shoots two darts at a time, so you’ll probably want one of the other ones.”
I look over the arsenal of Nerf weapons laid out on his comforter, then back at him. He’s wearing a black tactical vest over his pajamas. The top half of the vest is filled with individual spongy darts, while the bottom holds two clips full of them.
“What’s our mission?” I ask, playing along.
“We have to take out the other teams. We shoot at everyone else until we win. But, we can’t shoot them in the face.” He looks serious. “That’s Uncle Gunnar’s rule.”
“It’s a good rule.” I pick up one of the guns. “It sounds like you two play this a lot.”
He nods. “When Uncle Dean visits I get to stay up past my bedtime. When I was little we had Nerf wars at the hotels and sometimes on the bus.”
He must mean the band’s tour bus. An image of Latson and Dean chasing a giggling Oliver pops in my head, making me smile. Suddenly, I’m excited to kick some butt. I select the gun closest to me. “How does this one work?”
“Just pull the trigger.” Oliver takes it and demonstrates. The gun whirs as a dart smacks the wall. It travels faster than I expected.
“This one uses batteries,” he explains. “Some of the others are manual.”
“I think I like this one,” I say. “What happens when I’m out of darts?”
“Here’s how you reload.” He shows me the button to eject the clip and then shoves it back in. Then, he grabs another plastic rectangle full of darts and hands it to me. “Put this in your pocket.”
I do as I’m told. Oliver hands me my weapon, picks up one of his own, and walks toward the door. He puts on his game face and turns the knob. “It’s go time.”
I stifle a laugh. This kid is so cute, it’s ridiculous.
As we creep down the hall I realize the apartment is eerily quiet. Everyone must be lying in wait. Are they hiding or will they be in plain view? Can we run anywhere or are certain places off limits? I should have asked my seven-year-old partner these things before we started.
All of a sudden, Oliver drops to the ground and a bunch of darts whiz past my head. I duck and see Carter run from one side of the room to the other. I jump out of the way, pressing my back to the wall, as Oliver fires a couple rounds. What the hell? Where did Carter come from?
Oliver starts doing some sort of belly crawl across the carpet, and I crouch down as we advance. Once we’re out of the hallway and into the living room, I can see where a few people are hiding. Jules’ knee is sticking out from behind the loveseat, while the top of Kenzie’s head is visible behind the breakfast bar. I’m just about to wave Oliver over to our right, when Felix jumps out of the closet by the front door and starts firing. My adrenaline spikes and I shoot a few darts in his direction without aiming. One of them hits him in the arm, while Oliver catches him multiple times in the shin. Felix yells, “Noooo!” as he makes a big show of crumpling to the ground. I realize this is all for Oliver, and I fight a grin. These people are awesome.
Over to our left Dean has jumped up, and he and Jules, along with Pete, are firing at each other and ducking behind the couch and the loveseat. Carter darts out from somewhere and runs into the kitchen; I’m trying to figure out who’s on what team. Or does it matter? Gwen appears from the opposite hallway, shooting first into the kitchen as Carter and Kenzie spring into action, then at us as she skips out of the way. I fire back and hit her in the ass when she turns around. “I told you my butt was too big!” she hollers as she lies on the ground.
Laughing, I advance with Oliver and start shooting randomly at anything that moves. Nerf darts are flying everywhere. Latson makes a show of leaping into the room through the open balcony doors, and he starts firing like Rambo. Oliver aims for him and pulls the trigger, only to find he’s out of ammo.
“Shoot!” he says as he reloads.
I squeeze off a few rounds but miss, discovering that I’m out of ammunition, too. I dodge my way across the room, barely making it to the opposite hall. I eject my empty clip, letting it fall to the floor, and put in the new one. I lean around the corner, prepared to fire, when I’m confronted with Latson a few feet from me.
“Ahhh!” I jump. I didn’t expect him to be so close. I turn tail and run down the hallway, to avoid being shot at close range. Of course Latson chases me and shoots me twice in the back. Holy mother! Those little darts sting!
I turn around and start firing, not caring that I’m supposed to fall down dead. I’m not aiming; I just want to hit him. As he stalks toward me, I nail him in the chest, the stomach, and the thigh before I accidentally shoot him somewhere I shouldn’t. He stops walking and winces, sucking in a breath and biting back a curse.
I freeze. Oh, shit.
I shot him in the balls.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He stares at me through narrow eyes.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean it.”
His mouth twitches.
“What can I do?”
He chokes out a laugh. “You shouldn’t ask me that question.”
I lower my gun and give him a stern look. “Are you really hurt?”
He stands up straight. “It was a dart, not a sledgehammer.” He starts to walk toward me. “I’d run if I were you.”
Aw, crap. I look around. There’s nowhere to go unless I choose one of the doors in the hall. Even then, I’d still be cornered. I decide to cower against the wall and accept my fate. I slam my eyes shut and flinch. “Just shoot me and get it over with.”
The buzzer from the intercom sounds, interrupting us. I open one eye as I hear Carter verify a delivery man is downstairs bearing take-out.
“Saved by food.” Latson grins. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”
I relax and let out a breath. That was close.
We walk into the living room with our guns by our sides. People are crawling around on the floor picking up darts. I’m just about to help, when Latson turns his wrist and shoots me in the leg.
“Ow!” I yell and jump, shoving his arm. “That’s NOT romantic!”
He leans toward me. “Neither is shooting me in the junk.”
Before I can respond, he brings his hand to the back of my head and plants a quick kiss on my temple. My cheeks flush as a shiver runs down my spine. He leaves me to meet the delivery man, and I glance around. Did anyone see that? It doesn’t appear they did.
“Good job, Jen!” Oliver comes running. He holds up his hand for a high-five. “We won!”
“We did?” I slap his hand.
“Yeah. I was the last man standing.”
I smile. Of course he was.
It’s not long before food is spread out over every kitchen surface. There are Coney dogs with all the fixings, chicken gyro sandwiches, fries, and onion rings, along with a grilled cheese pita for Oliver and a huge antipasto salad. I immediately go for that, since my gallbladder-less self shouldn’t eat the other items in front of my health conscious brother. Despite my taste buds yearning for a gyro, I try to be excited about the lettuce.
“Excellent choice,” Pete says as he stands beside me and heaps salad on to his plate.
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes.
When Pete moves on, Latson takes his place. “Hey,” he says, trying to be inconspicuous.
“Hey.”
His eyes dart to a paper bag tucked in a corner by the refrigerator. “That’s for you,” he whispers.
I raise a questioning eyebrow.
He nudges my arm with his elbow, indicating I should check it out. I wander over slowly, taking a bite of my salad as I go. When I make it to the bag, I reach in and pull out a small container. I open the Styrofoam and my mouth instantly waters.
It’s a bacon double cheeseburger. He remembered my hospital request before surgery. My gaze jumps to his. Is it wrong I want to hug him for buying me ground beef?
“Covert ops,” he mouths and jerks his chin, telling me to find a place to hide and eat. I whisper a grateful “Thank you”, then silently disappear from the kitchen. I balance my burger on top of my salad and lean over my plate to hide it. I make my way toward the balcony doors and slide outside in attempt to be stealthy.
No one joins me for a full five minutes. I enjoy as much of the burger as I can. To be honest, it tastes like heaven, but sits a little heavy in my stomach. I finish only half, which is enough, before Jules and Gwen decide to step outside for some fresh air. We talk about the summer weather, and then Jules moves on to sandals after noticing Gwen’s cute purple wedges. During all of the talk, I try to think of something nice I can do for Latson. It was sweet of him to think of me.
“Jen,” Carter sticks his head outside, “Latson and Dean are looking for you.”
My brow furrows. “For what?”
“Jam session.”
My interest is piqued. Jules and Gwen follow me inside where I spot Latson standing in the middle of the room. He’s holding an acoustic guitar in each hand.
“There you are.” He feigns ignorance as to what I was doing outside. “Here. We’re going to entertain our friends.”
I reach for the neck of the guitar and realize it’s my own. “How did you get this?”
“I have a key.”
My expression twists. “That’s not stalkerish or anything.”
He shakes his head. “I asked Pete to go get it.”
I turn around and find my brother talking to Felix across the room. I catch his eye and point to the guitar, silently asking “You went and got this?”
He nods and shrugs.
I’m always down to play, so I find a seat on the couch next to Dean who is tuning his own instrument. “Are you sure you want me to join in?” I ask. “I’m not in the big leagues like you.”
“You could be,” he says, which makes me smile. I’ll gladly take that compliment.
Latson sits across from us as everyone else, including Oliver, finds somewhere to sit or stand. He strums the strings of his guitar and looks up. “Any suggestions?”
Dean looks at me. “You know Skynyrd. How ‘bout …” He strums the first unmistakable chords of “Sweet Home Alabama.”
Latson waits a moment then jumps right in. I wait until I can catch up. By the end of the first verse I’m there, keeping time and singing right along with them. Both Latson and Dean shoot me a look, but keep playing. Am I not supposed to sing? I keep going anyway. Halfway through the song everyone in the room is either clapping or singing along except for Oliver, who has no idea who Lynyrd Skynyrd is. We finish out of sync and sloppy, but our friends don’t care. We still get applause.
“What’s next?” I ask. This is way too much fun.
“You choose,” Dean says.
I think for a few seconds, then start “Closing Time” by Semisonic. No one joins in, so I stop playing. “Do you know it?”
“I know who I want to take me home,” Laston quips.
Smart ass, I think. I catch Pete giving me a questioning look; if he knew the song he’d understand. Still, I sass, “You’re already home,” and start the intro again. This time the guys join me, and when we get to the bridge, Latson kicks it up a notch. He rocks it with a louder, harder edge. It forces me to think faster and throw more of my upper body into playing, which I love. We end up locking eyes, and it feels like he’s challenging me. I keep the pace and even manage to throw in a couple chord changes of my own. This earns me an impressed nod, and I feel high. I’ve never played with anyone who loves music as much as I do.
We finish to more applause, although I’m sure these people would applaud anything Latson and Dean play. Dean holds out his fist and I bump it with my own. “Niiiiiice,” he says, drawing out the word. “What else do you know?”
We toss around song titles for a minute before settling on “Wonderwall” by Oasis. This song plays out just like the last with Latson and I vying for the upper hand. Other than Dean, I wonder if anyone else notices the unspoken competition. It’s as if we’ve stepped into a modern version of dueling banjos and Dean, like a patient parent, plays backup to our rivalry.
When the song ends Latson shoots me a wry smile. He shakes his head like I’m wearing him out, and I laugh.
“Can you guys play “First Love”?” Kenzie asks. “That’s one of my favorites.”
Latson looks at me. “I don’t think Jen knows it.”
“That’s okay. I can sit one out.”
“You’re sure?”
I nod. “Go ahead. I’ve never heard it.” Liar, I chastise myself. I downloaded all of Sacred Sin’s music this morning. “First Love” is off their second album.
The guys get ready to start and I relax. I like to play, but I like to be entertained, too.
At first, I have no problem enjoying the song with everyone else. Then, around the second verse, Latson decides it would be fun to mess with me. He catches my eyes every time he sings certain words; specifically you, me, love, and tease. I try to avoid his gaze and find myself fixated on his arms, at the way his biceps flex and his muscles strain beneath his tattoos. I admire the way his fingers move on the strings and, the longer I stare at them, the more I imagine them moving over me. I close my eyes to erase the thought and then open them to see him giving me a sexy smirk. Am I that easy to read? It’s obvious he knows what he’s doing.
And damn if he isn’t good at it.
By the time he finishes the song I’ve pictured him kissing me three times. It feels like the temperature in the room has gone up ten degrees. The guys decide to take a break, and I decide to head to the kitchen for a bottle of water. Singing has made my throat dry.
Okay. A certain someone’s antics have made my throat dry. There’s no use in trying to delude myself.
When I can’t find any bottles on the counter, I open the fridge. It seems less intrusive than rummaging around the cupboards for a glass. I push a carton of milk and some orange juice out of my way as I search.
“Making yourself at home?”
I stand up straight. Latson is hanging on the refrigerator door wearing a “you’ve been caught” look.
“I just need some water.”
He points to the bottom drawer. “In there.”
“Thanks.” I grab a bottle.
He shuts the door as I back away and twist the cap. He leans against the fridge in front of me. “That was a lot of fun back there.” His eyes dart toward the living room.
I nod as I drink.
“We should do it again sometime.”
I nod again.
“Except alone.”
I swallow.
“And naked.” He wags his eyebrows.
Oh my God. Really? I cross my arms over my pounding heart. “Haven’t you realized it’s going to take more than talk to get me naked?” Although, right now, this tank top is feeling like a snowsuit I’d like to rip off.
“A date it is, then. Tomorrow at seven. Don’t be late.” He gives me a confident nod and walks away.
I have no words. My throat is dry again. I take another drink.
I’m screwed.
