My intuition is proven spot on when Justine stuffs a wonky key into an outdated lock a few seconds later. Once the latch pops up, I open her door for her. She’s surprised by my chivalry but also pleased about it.
I wait for her to place her bag of groceries onto the passenger side seat before saying, “We should do dinner.”
“Dinner?” She swallows her spit before she chokes on it, then wrings her sweater with her hands, torn on if she should act excited or play hard to get. We’re doing dinner either way, so she can act however she likes. “Umm…”
“Come on, J. A girl has got to eat.” Her brother’s infamous nickname will get me over the line long before my wolfish grin. Maddox is the only one who calls her J, and he’s the apple of her eye. Reminding her that we are ‘friends’ will do me more good than harm. “I heard the Petrettis signature dish is still to die for.”
“It is. Maddox and I were there only last month,” she replies, her smile matching mine. After sliding into the driver’s seat of her bomb, she raises her eyes to mine. “Maddox and Demi have a casual thing going on. We could always do a double date with them?”
“That might be a bit awkward.” When confusion blasts through her eyes, I mutter, “Trust me, Maddox won’t enjoy his meal if he’s forced to watch his sister exchange spit with his friend.” I air quote my last word like a pompous, no-dick prick. My dealings with Maddox extend further than friendship, but its best to keep that between us for now. “I never did when riding shotgun with Ophelia’s dates.”
The lust firing through Justine’s eyes shifts to sorrow. “I heard about her accident. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Prove it. Share a meal with me without a tagalong.” Using my dead sister to get a date is wrong, but if it gives me a chance to get back my daughter sooner rather than later, I’m willing to go there.
Although shocked about my eagerness, Justine falls for my ruse. “I only have Thursday and Monday free.”
“Thursday works. I’ll arrange for a car to collect you at seven.” As domineering as I am cocky, I close her car’s door, spin on my heels, then walk away, stealing her chance to reply.
I can’t have her driving to our date in her car. Not only will it weaken the authenticity of my ruse, but her shoddy engine gives her an excuse to back out of our date. I’ve heard all the lines before—I have to wash my hair, my car broke down, I’m engaged to another man—and every one of them came from Audrey.
Chapter Two
Roxanne
As I drag my mouth away from my boyfriend’s kiss-swollen lips, goosebumps break across my skin. It’s cooler today than usual for this time of the year, but the drizzly weather isn’t to blame for the icy chill shuddering through me. Not even Eddie’s hand tracing the seam of my panties can be held accountable. There’s a weird sensation in the air, like more than an inappropriate hook-up location is set to cause trouble.
Eddie and I have been dating for two months. Even being in my second year of college won’t see my nanna bending the rules when it comes to boyfriends. Until we’re in a ‘solid’ relationship for six months straight, I can’t bring boys home. Hence the reason Eddie and I are getting frisky in the alleyway between the movie complex and our local grocer. It isn’t the ideal location, and a mattress would be more comfortable than a brick wall, but beggars can’t be choosers.
When the prickling of the hairs on my arms grows to a point I can’t ignore, I shift my head to the side. Since it’s late in the day and stormy, I can’t see out of the alleyway as clearly as normal, but there’s enough light to unearth the reason for my body’s odd response.
A man is making his way to a stretch limousine idling in the lower section of the parking lot. Despite the fact he’s clutching an umbrella, his trench coat is the only protection his pricy suit has from the downpour. He has an arrogant walk, similar to the one a quarterback does when running onto the field during State Championship weekend. It’s more teasingly paced, though, and mesmerizing.
I’m paying more attention to his cocky strut than the sneaky slip of Eddie’s hand. Instead of caressing the lace edging of my panties, his hand is now burrowed deep inside the inexpensive material.
Although this is the furthest we’ve gone, and we could be busted at any moment, for the life of me, I can’t get the word ‘stop’ to fall out of my mouth. My jaw is hanging too low from my eyes briefly colliding with the stranger’s to follow the prompts of my brain.
He’s spotted my gawk, but instead of calling for security, he slants his head to the side and rakes his eyes down my body. He drinks it all in—my black mid-thigh boots, my miniskirt and skin-tight shirt, and my bleached to within-an-inch-of-death hair.
He even takes in Eddie’s fumbling hand as he strives to find my clit.
The last part he finds more amusing than arousing. His smirk tells me this, much less the humor blazing through his expressive eyes when he returns them to my face. I expect him to wink, then walk away, too cultured to watch two teens fumble their way to third base, but he surprises me for the second time this afternoon by sticking around to watch the show.
His scrutiny should have me clamping around Eddie’s fingers in disgust, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Instead of announcing to Eddie that we have an audience, I adjust the span of my thighs to ensure he can notch the rest of his finger inside of me before breathing heavily into his neck, encouraging his pursuit.
The stranger’s dark, rain-flopped hair hides most of his face, only the tiniest snippet of blue pops out of the flattened mess, but I’m confident in saying he’s gorgeous. You don’t have the suffocating aura he does with a cat’s bunghole for a face. His whole persona screams of wealth and superiority, albeit a little blackened by haunted memories.
I guarantee he’s brutally beautiful, and the thought of unearthing his dark side has me acting wildly reckless.
A grunted moan leaves Eddie’s lips when he finally locates my clit. He thinks I’m giving myself to him, when in reality, that’s far from the truth. I’m not imagining his thumb circling the bundle of nerves between my legs. My focus isn’t on him in the slightest. I have nothing but the piercing blue eyes of a stranger on my mind, and they have me even wetter than the downpour that’s drenching the handsome stranger.
“You’re so responsive to my touch,” Eddie mutters into my ear a short time later while flicking my clit like he knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t, but my body is wired so tight from the dark-haired man’s watch, it’s happy to pretend he does. “I knew you’d be explosive. All blondes are—”
I clamp my hand over Eddie’s mouth, shutting him up. “Shh, you’ll get us busted.” I’m not really worried, his words are barely whispers, but I can’t hear him and the stranger’s shallow breaths at the same time.
Even the way the dark-haired man breathes is sexy, all rugged and unhinged. I imagine his heated breaths fanning my skin when he places feather-like kisses from my ankle to my inner thigh. Just the thought of his mouth floating over my aching sex has zaps sparking through me. I bet he gives good head, and he’d smell divine while doing it—like expensive cologne and over-priced whiskey. He wouldn’t wear shop-bought deodorant just like he wouldn’t drink bottom-shelf whiskey. He’s too refined for that, too sophisticated, so wickedly evil he’ll watch a woman be brought to ecstasy on a lazy Friday afternoon like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.