Damn it. "That's not it."
"I mean, I know you've been with models and stuff, so…" She let the sentence trail off.
"Yeah? So what?"
"So I can see where someone like me would be kind of a step down."
"No," I told her. "You'd be a step up." It wasn't a lie. Amber was every bit as beautiful. And more to the point, she was a genuinely nice person in spite of her shitty taste in friends. Me, included.
"You're just saying that," she said.
"No. I'm not."
"Then why aren't you into me?" she asked. "I mean, we have fun together. And now there's Brittney. You think she's pretty, right? And she's hot for you, so–"
"So what do you want?" I said. "A quick fuck? A threesome? You want to cross that off your bucket-list?"
I knew I was being a dick. But Brittney was trouble, and I'd be an even bigger dick if I took Amber up on whatever she was offering. I liked her. But I didn't love her, not like that. And if I fucked her now – alone or with a friend – she'd end up joining a long line of girls who hated my guts.
If she hated me, I could deal with it. But if she hated herself, well, I didn't want that on my shoulders.
"It wouldn’t have to be like that," she said. "You know, my dad really likes you."
Her dad owned a worldwide distribution company. He had the exclusive rights to some of my merchandize. I knew the sales figures. No doubt, he did like me. But that didn't mean he wanted me fucking his only daughter.
I glanced out the side window. I caught movement. This time, it wasn't a squirrel. I stood. It was the dog, Chucky, straining against his leash. I couldn't see Chloe, but I knew she was there. She had to be there somewhere – probably standing on the sidewalk, past that cluster of tall hedges.
"I've gotta go," I said.
"But wait," Amber said. "You haven't heard my idea. It's about a party."
I was heading for the door. "I'm sure it's great."
Her voice brightened. "Really?"
"Yeah. Go for it." I reached the front door and pushed it open. "Now, I've gotta run, alright?"
A minute later, I was out front, leaning my back against the tall iron fence. I reached into the pocket of my jeans and pulled out the packet of doggie-treats.
I crinkled the package. And waited.
Chapter 20
From somewhere beyond my line-of-sight, I heard Chloe's laughter. "Chucky, you spaz!"
A moment later, the dog barreled around the corner of the fence, yapping and straining against his leash. The way it looked, he was heading straight for me.
I grinned down at him. Good dog.
A split second later, Chloe rounded the same corner, stumbling forward as Chucky dragged her toward me like a dog on a mission. She was still laughing. It was a happy sound that carried sweet and clear over the skittering of the fall leaves.
At the sight and sound of her, I caught my breath. She wore dark jeans and a pale yellow shirt. The shirt clung to her curves and shifted with her movements. Her eyes were bright, and her smile was contagious.
I wanted her. And not just sexually.
But by now, I'd figured something out. She was careful. I got that. So today, I wouldn’t be Lawton Rastor, the train-wreck she'd been avoiding. I'd be just the neighbor guy, a regular Joe, soaking up the final days of Indian summer.
That's what regular guys did, right?
I gave her a friendly smile, working hard to keep it casual. I didn't move toward her, although I sorely wanted to. Play it cool. That was the plan. I almost laughed. Cool? Yeah, right. She was so sweet and so beautiful, I didn't stand a chance.
The day was unseasonably warm, and I'd overdressed in jeans and a dark, long-sleeve shirt. But I had my reasons. A regular Joe wasn't covered in tattoos. He couldn't bench-press three-fifty or beat a man senseless. I wanted to walk with the girl, not scare her – or the neighbors, people she'd probably known a lot longer than me.
The dog, I figured, would be fine no matter what. I had doggie treats, and I wasn't afraid to use them.
By the time the terrier reached me, Chloe was nearly breathless. Her cheeks were pink, and her lips were parted. She stumbled forward, laughing as the dog skidded to a stop near my feet.
I was still holding the bag of treats, and I wasn't about to hide them now. I was a lot of things, but not a tease. Besides, I wasn't a dumb-ass. If the dog hated me, I was doomed.
I gave the bag a little shake. Chucky gave a yap of excitement. So far, so good.
As for his owner, she stopped just outside arm's reach. Her gaze zoomed in on the bag. She paused. "Are those doggie treats?"
"This?" I held up the bag. It was already open. It made a nice, crinkling sound as I shook it again. "Yup."
At my feet, Chucky was going more than a little nuts, straining at the leash and yapping like crazy.
Chloe smiled, and then she laughed. "Trying to get me killed?"
"No," I said. "Trying to get you to stop."
By now, the dog was jumping up on my legs, whining and straining for the bag in my hand.
I glanced at Chloe. "Care if I give him some?"
She gave a playful eye-roll. "At this point, I think you'd better – unless you want to get eviscerated."
I looked down. The dog was little. He had big, happy eyes, half-hidden by fur. I couldn't see him eviscerating anything. But hey, why insult the guy?
I shook a few treats onto my hand and squatted down to ground-level. I opened my hand, palm up, letting Chucky set the pace. Instantly, the treats were gone. Chucky looked up, as if waiting for more.
I leaned in to ruffle his fur. "Later," I whispered. "Put in a good word for me, alright?"
He yapped once, and I heard myself laugh. Was that a yes? It sounded like a yes. I stood and turned toward his owner. "Want some company?" I asked.
She paused, as if surprised by the question. She glanced at the sidewalk, and then back at me. She didn't say yes. But she didn't say no.
I pointed to my feet. "Look. Shoes."
At this, she laughed. "And a shirt too."
I grinned. "Just for you."
Her gaze fell to my chest, and then dipped lower, as if skimming my abs. Something in her eyes made me wonder what, exactly, she was thinking. The way it looked, it couldn't be all bad.
"Really," she said, "you shouldn't have." Her voice was light, but sexy at the edges. And then, she smiled. The smile matched the voice, all sweetness with a hint of sin.
Oh my God. That voice. That look. That smile. This girl was killing me.
Trying not to show it, I held a hand out toward Chucky's leash. "Want me to take him?"
She gave the hand a dubious look. "You can try."
So, she didn't think I could handle him, huh? We'd see about that. It was time to prove her wrong, about this and other things.
Starting out, I saw what she meant. The dog was a maniac, rocketing forward one minute, and then skidding to a stop the next. But after a couple blocks, we found a good rhythm. Funny, I liked walking him. Chucky was a riot. And his owner? Well, she was something else entirely.
So far, she'd been quiet, whether lost in her own thoughts or just enjoying the nice weather. But somehow, the silence was easy, and I let it settle over me like the warm breeze that lifted the ends of her windblown hair.
I didn't ask about her job, and she didn't ask about the fight. I knew she'd seen me, because I'd seen her watching. But I had a theory. She didn't know that I'd seen her. And that was fine by me.
Forget that whole mess. I had a different topic in-mind, something I wanted to clear up. Yesterday morning, I'd shown up on her doorstep, expecting, as she saw it, ass and eggs.
I spoke up. "About yesterday –"
"Forget it." She glanced away, and I saw a fresh shade of pink rise to her cheeks. Was that the sun, or embarrassment? Either way, I wasn't going to let this slide.
"Not gonna happen," I said.
She stopped. "Excuse me?"
I stopped, too
. I gave her a casual smile. "You're not getting off that easy."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I can't forget it."
Her gaze narrowed. "Why not?"
Because you're unforgettable.
It was true. Lately, she was all I thought about. But scaring her wasn't part of my plan, so I looked into those amazing eyes, and said, "I dunno. I just can't."
The corners of her mouth lifted. "You just don't want to."
"Probably."
At this, she turned and started walking again. I fell in beside her, letting her little dog lead the way.
"Look," I said, "I know what you were thinking, me showing up so early, but that wasn't it."
"Oh."
When she said nothing else, I went on. I stuck to the basics. I told her how I found the tag and knew she'd want it back as soon as possible. I didn't tell her that I was looking for an excuse, any excuse to see her again. If I played my cards right, from now on, I might not need an excuse.
Remembering my plans to keep it low-key, I changed the subject, bringing up some comedy that I'd seen a couple weeks earlier. For whatever reason, that seemed to break the ice.
Walking with her, I felt myself smile. When I moved out here a few weeks earlier, I didn't give a rat's ass about fitting in. Back then, all I wanted was to be left alone. Now, I wanted something else, her, the girl who belonged here.
Before I knew it, we'd circled around to her place.
She reached out to take Chucky's leash. "Thanks for the walk."
I couldn’t help but tease her, at least a little. Grinning, I held the leash just out of reach. "You sure you can handle him?"
"Oh please," she said with that same playful eye-roll.
I couldn't resist. I lowered my voice. "Please what?"
Her lips parted, and her breath caught. I stood, frozen, half wondering if she'd invite me inside.
She didn't.
Instead, she reached up and snatched the leash from my outstretched hand. Tossing a quick goodbye over her shoulder, she bounded down her long driveway, with the dog leading the way. I watched her go, feeling an obscene amount of satisfaction when she stopped at her front door and turned back to look.
Across the distance, I saw her smile. The smile made me smile, too. But I wasn't going anywhere, not yet.
I waited, watching as Chloe unlocked the front door, pushed it open, and disappeared inside. Then, and only then, did I turn back toward my own house, just like any regular Joe might do.
Yeah, I could do this – fit in, blend, whatever. It'd be easy. Or at least, that's what I thought until late that night, when I opened my front door to a girl who wasn't Chloe, and never would be, no matter how hard she tried.
It was Brittney. And the way it looked, she was drunk off her ass.
Chapter 21
From inside the open doorway, I stared down at her. She stood on my front porch, looking glazed and unsteady, in a tight red dress and matching stiletto heels. She blinked up at me and slurred, "Can I come in?"
I crossed my arms. "Where's Amber?"
Brittney stumbled sideways, grabbing the porch-rail just in time. "I dunno."
It was nearly midnight. I'd spent the last ten hours making up for the work I'd missed earlier. I didn't have the time – or the inclination – for whatever it was that Brittney had in mind.
I glanced past her, toward the front gate. It was open. The last time I looked, it had been closed. It had been closed for reason.
"How'd you get the code?" I asked.
She let go of the rail and stood, tottering on her heels. "Huh?"
"The gate-code. How'd you get it?"
She turned toward the gate, but then kept on turning. She did a full circle before stopping unsteadily to blink up at me. Her bottom lip quivered. "I had to take a cab."
That wasn't my question, but what was the point? I knew how she got the code. From Amber. Tomorrow, I'd have to change it. And then, I decided, I'd keep the code to myself, at least as far as Brittney and Amber were concerned.
Looking past the gate, I scanned the street. No cab.
Shit.
I reached for my cell phone. "I'll call you a new one."
"You can't." She choked out a sob. "Nowhere to go."
"Not my problem," I said.
Yes, I was being a dick, but this wasn't the first time some girl showed up, stranded, on my doorstep. By now, I'd seen it all. Drunk, sober, dressed, naked, alone, with friends, whatever – it was all part of the reason I'd moved out here.
That sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen anymore. I had three acres of woods and a big, iron fence. Next, I'd be needing a moat.
Brittney gave another sob. "My roommate locked me out. She was banging some guy. Guess she didn't want to be bothered."
"I know the feeling."
She blinked up at me. "You have a roommate, too?"
"No. And I don't want one."
"Huh?" Brittney leaned toward me and slurred, "I like your tattoos. They're soooo bad-ass." She lost her balance and staggered into me. By instinct, my arms closed around her, catching her against my chest.
"You feel nice," she slurred. "All warm and hard." She ground her pelvis into my thigh. "You wanna invite me in?"
I stepped back to hold her out at arm's length. "No."
She squinted up at me. "You sure? I'm not wearing underpants."
"I'm sure."
"Bummer." She swallowed hard, looking suddenly green around the gills. She scrunched up her face and said, "Can I at least use your bathroom?"
The way it looked, it was either that or watch her barf in the bushes. I stepped aside. "You've got five minutes."
I found her ten minutes later, snoring near the toilet. She was lying, face-down, in a drunken heap, with her dress hiked up above her hips. Sure enough, her ass was bare, except for a butterfly tattoo on her right butt-cheek.
I saw no purse, no wallet, no phone, and in decent news, no barf. Either she'd made it to the toilet in time, or she hadn't been as sick as she looked. If I were lucky, I'd never find out.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Amber. The call went straight to voicemail. Either she was on the phone, or she'd run out of juice. Either way, I left a message. "Call me. Now."
I disconnected the call and eyed the sleeping blonde on my bathroom floor.
She couldn’t stay, but I didn't know who else to call. Brittney was new on the scene, and I had no idea where she lived. Shit, I didn't even know her last name. I crouched down and gave her shoulders a shake. "Hey."
Mumbling, she rolled over onto her back, giving me a full beaver-shot, minus the fur. With both hands, I reached out and yanked down her dress, covering her nakedness as best as I could.
She gazed up at me with sleepy, bloodshot eyes. "Heeeey," she slurred, "you're Lawton Rastor." She gave me an open-mouthed smile. "I like dreaming about you." She giggled. "You wanna fuck?"
Sure, because it was my ultimate fantasy to screw a sloppy drunk near my own toilet.
"No," I said.
She narrowed her gaze, squinting hard. "Oh wait. Is this real? You wanna pinch me or something Did you see my new butterfly?"
"You can't stay," I told her. "Who should I call?"
Her lips pursed. "No one."
I recalled her mom, the hot-shot banker. "Your mom," I said. "What's her number?"
At this, she gave a sad, drunken laugh. "I dunno."
"Think," I told her.
"No," she slurred. "I mean, for real." She squinted, hard, like it hurt to think. "Miami, maybe?"
I stared down at her. "What?"
She lifted her head and puckered her lips, waiting, I assumed, for a kiss. When no kiss came, she let her head fall backward, where it thudded to the floor. She closed her eyes and gave a weak moan. "Owwww."
"If you think it hurts now," I said, "just wait 'til morning."
She opened her eyes and gave a drunken giggle. "You're funny."
"I wasn't joking."
I shook my head. "Who? Your mom?"
"Yeah," she slurred. "She's like a dancer."
I shouldn't have asked. But I did anyway. "What kind?"
"Uh, exotic?"
So her mom was a stripper? Was that for real? Or was that just the booze talking?
Lying there, Brittney looked up at me with sad, puppy-dog eyes. "Why don't you like me?"
No way I'd be answering that question. She was down. I could kick her by pointing out the reasons. But I didn't have the heart. So instead, I gave a non-committal shrug.
With a long, sad sigh, she let go of my shirt. "You like Amber better. I can tell. Everyone likes Amber better."
"Probably a reason for that."
Brittney's gaze narrowed. "She's not prettier than me. I can tell that, too."
"There's more to life than looks."
Brittney gave a drunken snort. "Oh sure, easy for you to say. You're like the hottest person I know."
I wasn't hot. I was tired of the bull. "Then maybe you need to get out more," I told her.
"Oh, come on," she slurred. "You know you are. If you were ugly, you'd know." She gave a sloppy giggle. "And if you didn't know, I'd tell you, because you'd want to know. Am I right?"
I shoved a hand through my hair. At this point, all I wanted was to see her gone.
Again, she reached for my shirt. This time, she missed, grabbing a handful of empty air. "Wait, you don’t think I'm ugly, do you?"
I pulled back. "No." Not on the outside anyway.
"I wish I were Amber," she slurred. "She has it sooooo easy."
At the mention of Amber, I stood. I pulled out my cell phone and tried her again. Still no answer.
On the floor, Brittney was still rambling. "She's got parents. And money. Tons of it." Brittney's voice grew sullen. "She has real purses, too. I don't have real purses. Mine are just semi-real."
"You want a purse?" I said. "Fine. Tell me who to call. I'll buy you a dozen."
But Brittney wasn't listening. "You liked that other girl," she was saying. "The girl with the dog. I bet she has real purses, too. She was a total rich bitch. I could tell."
I froze.
At something in my face, Brittney clamped her lips shut. She turned her head, looking toward the nearby wall. Her voice grew quiet. "I'm not really in a sorority, you know."
Lawton Page 8
