We stare at each other. The air is suddenly thick. I shift from one foot to the other uncomfortably.
“Alex is a pig who would fuck anything,” she declares suddenly, and pulls her eyes from me. She stares at her drink and uses the straw to stir it aggressively. “He doesn’t get that some people have a type. You have a type and it’s not me.”
“Really?” She sounds so bloody sure of it, so overtly confident, that it’s startling. And perplexing. “What’s my type?”
She glances up quickly and then back down. “Not me.”
“Is this some weird, backhanded way of saying I’m notyourtype?” I clear my throat and shrug. “You don’t have to let me down easy. I’m a big boy.”
She laughs at that and gives me an incredulous stare. She looks absolutely adorable with her mouth hanging open, and I want to fill that open mouth with my dick. God, that would be hot…
“You’re rich, handsome and smart. You’re every woman’s type, whether they like it or not. You’re what ovaries dream of.”
I smile. The compliment is an unexpected thrill, but I make the mistake of looking up. Jennifer catches my eye and waves me over. Ugh. I hesitate.
“You can’t ignore her. And you shouldn’t,” Stephanie says to me, pushing her long hair over her shoulder. It looks so silky and soft. I want to touch it. “Just try to keep the noise down. Remember the walls between our bedrooms aren’t soundproof. I don’t want to hear your headboard banging all night long.”
She shoves me toward Jennifer, but I don’t move. “You seriously want me to take her home?”
“No. I mean, I don’t care either way.” She shrugs and runs a hand through her wavy brown hair, tucking it behind her ear on one side before taking another sip of her fresh drink. “But she’s interested.”
“I’m not,” I reply swiftly.
“Why not?”
“Hey, Avery.” Jennifer is right beside me now, her hand on my forearm. “Will you take a picture with me? My brother is a huge hockey fan. He’ll never believe I met you unless I have proof.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Let’s get a group together.” I smile and walk over and grab Alex out of his chair because that’s what I was taught to do when a single woman wants a photo. Group shots don’t insinuate anything. She waves her friends over, too, and I watch helplessly as Stephanie walks away.
I pose for a photo with Jennifer and her friends and Alex, which they need to do four times before they get the angle right. By the time I finally get the chance to politely excuse myself from them, Stephanie is nowhere to be found. I walk over to Ty and Maddie at the bar. “Have you seen Steph?”
“She went home,” Ty tells me with a flicker of sympathy across his face. “But don’t worry, we’ll give you a ride back.”
I nod tersely and head back to the table. Alex is there with a brunette, working his magic. He looks up for a second from her cleavage and starts to open his mouth, but I raise my hand. “Not a fucking word.”
He smirks. Asshole.
Chapter 6
Stephanie
An hour and a half after leaving the bar, I’m lying in bed, by myself, wide awake and in a crappy mood. The last I saw of Avery he was being Mr. Congeniality and posing for photos with Nude Pumps and her friends. About ten minutes ago I heard a bunch of voices out front on the porch—his voice, Ty’s and Maddie’s. I know it’s not his style, but I find myself wondering if he brought Pumps home with him. Why does the idea bug me so much?
I don’t like Avery. I mean I like him as a friend and I’m attracted to him, because who wouldn’t be? The boy is built for sexual satisfaction. Not mine, of course. He’s too much for me to handle, and I’m not the right fit for him. Knowing that as certainly as I do and then indulging anything more than friendship with him would be purposefully traumatic. I have learned from all my recovery programs that self-destructive behavior is the root of all evil.
Avery needs a girl who not only can uphold his image but one who mirrors it. I was a teenage runaway and recovering drug addict who got her GED and a paralegal certificate through an online school. I am not even using my degree. I am just a legal secretary for now, waiting for a paralegal job to open up in my firm.
Don Westwood would probably have me killed before he let me date his son. I suppose we could have a random one-night stand. His father would never know about that and it would satisfy the craving I feel for him between my legs. But the problem is I already know I like Avery. Reallylikehim. In spite of all his uptight, sometimes even robotic personality traits, deep down he is fun and sweet and kind. And he lets me tell him when he is being a putz without throwing a tantrum, which is insane because I’m fairly sure I’m the only one who has ever gotten away with putting him in his place. There’s a hard thump from the other side of the wall I share with Avery, the one that borders the left side of my bed. And then another. And then another.
“Here we go,” I mutter, and it instantly puts me in a worse mood. He did it. He actually took her home.
Thump. Thump! THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!
“He’s going to put her through the wall,” I mutter to myself.
And then I hear him—through the open window above my headboard. “What’s that? I’m a sex god?…Yeah, baby, I get that a lot.”
Is he fucking serious?!