Liar.
I wasn’t wrapped around him. I wasn’t touching him.
“Sorry. You must be remembering a dream. I’m flattered. Really. But you’re not my type, Wylder.” I opened my laptop.
“What’s your type? Women?” Haughty, arched lips challenged me without looking up from the table.
“Guys that don’t come home with gunshot wounds.”
“So … boring?” he continued, chin to his chest.
Bringing up my Word document, I shrugged. “If virile, sober men is your idea of boring, then … yeah. I guess my type is boring.”
Glancing up slowly, he rubbed his full lips together for a few seconds. I tried really hard not to stare at them, but I failed fantastically. My mouth moved on instinct—telling him how unmanly and not my type he was while my eyes fucked him every way imaginable.
“You don’t think I’m masculine?” His wolfish grin led me into a trap.
Ripping my gaze from his mouth, I forced my lips closed and refocused on my computer screen. “I’m just saying … last night you were not energetic or vigorous. My type would have been able to …”
“Able to what?” He angled his head.
Lifting a shoulder in a partial shrug, I mumbled.
“Sorry … I didn’t catch that.”
Clearing my throat, I said it a little louder and slower. “Copulate.”
His eyebrows slid up his forehead, eyes dancing with mischief. I didn’t recognize the man across from me. “You wanted me to fuck you last night, and because I was dealing with a gunshot wound, that made me inadequate in your eyes?”
My head sprang up, eyes wide, breath choking on a quick gasp. “I didn’t want you to fuck me. Your dog came to get me. Poor thing probably thought you were dying. I was simply meaning that I prefer guys who don’t do shit that involves guns or the need for urgent medical attention. Not being a criminal is sexy. That’s …” I typed a bunch of gibberish into my document like I had some serious stuff to do. And I did. But there was no way I could focus after the conversation shifted to sex. “That’s all that I meant. Way to have your head in the gutter.”
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table and invading my space with his soapy scent and his pheromones. “You said copulate. I responded with fuck. Pretty synonymous if you looked it up in a thesaurus.”
It didn’t matter what I said. My cheeks filled with fire, yet goose bumps exploded along my arms, and my nipples dissolved all concealing efforts made by my shirt and bra. Every part of me screamed, “Fuck me, Wylder!” Except my words.
I had words. Words mattered.
“Again …” I pulled my mouth into a tight smile. “Your fantasy, not mine.”
He shook his head, the hint of playfulness in his expression vanishing as he shoved his notepad and computer into his bag before pushing his chair back and standing with Jericho. “It’s not my job to fuck you, Livy.”
I coughed, mangling the word “what” as he turned. By the time I cleared the knot of disbelief from my throat, he and Jericho were at the stairs, disappearing in a blink.
Job?
*
“I love this life.” I grinned the next morning, peering over at Kara as we paddled out a little after six in the morning.
She reciprocated the grin and shot past me a few feet. “You know … there’s no surfing in D.C. If you love this life, I’d shoot for Governor of California and call it good.”
I laughed. “You might be right. Or maybe I should marry rich, buy an island, and just surf the rest of my life. President is a pretty crappy job.”
She giggled. “So crappy. Governor is good. Marry a surfer. Raise several grommets to be wave hogs like their mom.”
“I’m not a wave hog,” I countered just before stealing the next one.
After four hours, Kara insisted we leave. Missy had set them up on a double-blind, double date, and Kara thought she needed the whole day to get ready.
“GSW is home.” She jerked her chin up as we passed the firehouse just as Slade was climbing out of his car.
Biting my bottom lip, I nodded. “I forgot to mention … he was at the library yesterday. And particularly …”
“Hot as fuck?”
“That. Of course. But arrogant as fuck would be more accurate. Our conversation took a weird turn. The next thing I knew, he was telling me it’s not his job to fuck me. A direct quote.” I pulled into the driveway.
“He what?”
“Yep. Like I asked him or made a move on him or flirted with him … which I. Did. Not.” I hopped out and grabbed my bag from the back.
Kara climbed out and shut her door, staring at the firehouse and Slade standing at the back of his car while Jericho took a piss in the yard. “Is it his job to fuck someone else? I mean … maybe he’s not into drugs. Maybe he’s a male escort. Maybe the bullet was from a disgruntled husband.”
“That’s …” I started to say ridiculous, but in reality, I knew nothing about him. “An interesting theory.”
She shrugged while turning to retrieve her bag from the back of the Jeep. “I guess the obvious next question is … how much does he charge?”
I grinned. “You’ll have to ask him. I’m not touching that one. Since he’s renting that place all by himself, I’d guess it’s more than we can afford. Maybe Aubrey could afford him.”
We giggled and strode toward the house. I made one last glance down the street at the exact moment Slade turned his gaze in my direction. It was too far to make out his expression. Probably part of the scowl family.
Later that night, after Kara and Missy left on their double date and Aubrey went to dinner with her parents, I decided to take a walk—just down the street. It was the extent of my comfort zone after the near rape incident. On the third time down and back, I slowed my stride as the black Volvo passed me and pulled into the driveway. He was home a little early for his late-night routine. Before I could cross the street to avoid walking directly in front of his house, a gray Lexus SUV pulled in behind him.
Slade climbed out of his car first. His motions were slow … like he had a gunshot wound. A woman with straight brunette hair to her shoulders and sophisticated black-framed glasses slid out of the SUV, bent down, and gave Jericho some love before standing straight again and giving Slade a gentle hug and kiss on his cheek.
A wickedly irrational emotion shot up my spine. An unexpected possessiveness toward both Slade and Jericho. Who was Miss Sophisticated and why was she showing so much affection to …
To what?
It was a sane question.
I’d known Slade for approximately six weeks. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Maybe it was his job to fuck her.
After their kissy-huggy greeting ended, they walked toward the house with Jericho in tow. I waited for him to glance back at me. He saw me. There was no way he passed me a few seconds earlier on the street and didn’t see me. Yet, he made no attempt to acknowledge me.
Until …
My boy Jerry stopped abruptly and turned like he caught whiff of my scent. All the warm fuzzies filled my chest. A dog gave me more feels than any man had given me in a long time. Maybe ever.
Jericho liked me. Hell, maybe he loved me.