“Grab the water,” he says. “I’ll meet you on the sofa.” Then he turns and walks through the living room, leaving me to wonder what the hell just happened.
Chapter 4
Dax
Lisa returns to the living room with two lemon-sliced glasses of ice water on a sterling silver tray, and as I watch her hips sway, I replay her last question in my mind.
Is this the lamest entrée to casual sex you’ve ever had in your life?
“For the record, you’re not lame,” I tell her as she sits down beside me and hands me a glass of water. “You’re actually pretty cute.”
“Cute,” she repeats, spitting out the word like a piece of gristle. “I’m not trying to be cute. I’m aiming for sexy, wild, and sophisticated.”
I grin and take a sip of water. “And you’re nailing two out of three.”
She doesn’t ask which one she’s missing. I’m guessing she knows, but I’m also guessing there’s something she doesn’t.
It wouldn’t take much to bring out Lisa Michaels’s wild side.
I can see it in her eyes. There’s a lust-fueled super-heroine behind that pearl choker and silk blouse. The thought of uncovering her sends my dick throbbing.
But first things first.
“So, your sister said you’re going through a tough time,” I begin. “And you mentioned a grudge fuck,” I add. “Tell me more.”
She stares at me for a moment, then folds her hands primly on her lap. “Gary and I dated for four years, got engaged at the three-year mark, and had planned a perfect June wedding.”
“I take it that didn’t happen?”
She shakes her head, and I watch her eyes for signs that she’s not over the guy. I’m not seeing them, but it isn’t like I know her that well.
“He pulled a no-show at the wedding,” she says, pressing her lips together in a thin line before continuing. “On the bright side, it left me with six cases of Dom Pérignon to enjoy by myself.”
“Not all in one sitting, I hope?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No, of course not. And I really am over him. I promise. It’s just?—”
Her brow furrows as she searches for the right conclusion to that sentence. I find I really want to know, really want to hear what she’s thinking.
It’s been a long time since I hung on a woman’s words like this.
“Any guy who’d pull a stunt like that is a loser,” I tell her. “You deserve better.”
“I suppose so,” she says, scratching at a nonexistent spot on her skirt with one perfectly manicured nail. “But then again, I’m the loser who thought I wanted to marry him.”
I start to say something comforting, but Lisa stops scratching and looks up at me. “You know what Gary said to me after his friend, Preston, caught his girlfriend cheating with the woman she and Preston had a threesome with?”
It takes me a moment to digest that, both the logistics of what she’s saying and the fact that Lisa just uttered the word “threesome.”
“What did Gary say?” I ask.
“He said, ‘I’m glad I never have to worry about craziness like that with you, Lisa.’”
I nod, though I’m not entirely sure what the correct response is here. “I’m sure he meant it as a compliment.” I’m not trying to defend the guy, just trying to make Lisa feel less shitty. “He knew you were loyal and trustworthy.”
She gives me a withering look and picks up her own glass of water. “That’s also how you’d describe a Labrador retriever.”
I start to argue, but she waves a hand.
