Chapter Eight
MONTANA
Iglaredat the yummy quarterback. His hair was damp, his cheeks were red, and his impish smirk was sinful. “Are you a stalker?” I asked with my hands on my hips.
“Who is that, honey? The air conditioner man?” My mom’s footsteps slapped on the tiled foyer as she came up behind me.
“Do you know how to fix air conditioners?” I asked Train. My body was tingly from his tantalizing male scent floating in through the screen door.
“Oh, hi,” Mom said. “You’re not the AC man.”
“I’m one of Montana’s classmates.” Train’s raspy Southern accent only enhanced the tingly sensation in my belly.
My mom pushed open the door as Train skirted to the side. “Come in.” Then she glared at me. “Where are your manners?”
Train traipsed in. “Yeah, Montana. Manners.” Then he batted his long lashes at my mom. “Hi, ma’am. I’m Train Everly.”
She craned her neck up at him. “I’m Georgia.” She planted on a warm smile. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, ma’am. But it’s deathly hot in here. Do you have someone coming to fix your air conditioner?”
“The landlord said it would be a couple of days,” Mom said. “I think Montana and I might have to go to a hotel until we get it fixed.”
That would be wonderful. Then I could get a good night’s sleep.
“I could call my father. He owns a contracting business with a team of workers that have all kinds of skills. I’m sure he could get someone over here.”
Mom’s blue eyes beamed. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Why not?” I chimed in. “If it gets someone out before the they find our bodies shriveled up in here.” Comfort was more important than ignoring Train at the moment.
Mom dragged her fingers over her forehead. “Honey, don’t be so dramatic. And Train, if you don’t mind calling your father that would be great. I’ll let you two talk. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Mom breezed away.
Thank goodness her brain had cleared to accept help.
Train and I entered into a stare-down. Another minute of taking in all that was Train Everly was too much for my system. He made the heat in the house hotter with his presence.
“If you’re here to talk me out of football, then leave. My mind is made up.” I didn’t care to play. My goal was purely to mess with him. Sure, I could think up other ways to screw with his head, but Derek’s chauvinistic comment had stuck with me, and I got the impression Train agreed.
He pursed his lips together—lips that I couldn’t take my eyes off of.
He snapped his fingers. “You want to kiss me. Don’t you?”
I almost dropped my jaw then clamped it shut. “Not in this lifetime.”
He inched closer with that smile that about made my knees buckle. “Do you always lie?”
I inched backward until my butt hit the bannister. My breathing ramped up as I threw my hands behind me to latch onto a spindle.
He raked his gaze over my face then lingered on my lips. “And what else is your mind made up about?”
“That it will be a cold day in hell before you kiss me,” I said weakly.
He leaned down so his steamy breath was tickling my ear. “The way I see it, you’ll be throwing yourself at me.” He nibbled on my ear. “You have no willpower.”
I lost my breath, my vision, and all sound of my mom, who had been making noises clinking glasses together. I planted my hands on Train’s hard chest. “You’re an asshat.” Then I tried to push him away.Triedbeing the operative word.
“You’re not playing football.” His mouth hadn’t left my ear.
