I swipe on lip gloss and tug the neckline of my top just a little lower.
Maybe I could.
“Okay,” I say. “I have to go. I’ll text you later.”
“Send pics,” April says. “Of your outfit. And maybe of his dumb, guilty face.”
I hang up before she can say anything else, grab my bag, and head for the door.
Tonight, I might just be the girl who sets the rules.
And if Hunter—Thor—whatever-his-name-is can play pretend?
Why can’t I?
* * *
The scentof buttered biscuits and bourbon hits me the second I walk through the front doors of Holloway’s Hideout, but it’s the sly smirk on Daphne’s face that really sets the tone.
She barely waits for me to clock in before she drops it.
“Hunter wants to see you,” she says, popping a stick of gum into her mouth and snapping it once. “In his office. Upstairs.”
My brows lift. “Oh?”
Behind her, one of the other servers—Courtney, I think—whistles low under her breath. “Ooooh. You’re introuble.”
Daphne just grins. “Or maybe sheisthe trouble.”
I don’t reply. Just hang my bag in the back and head for the stairs, heart thudding against my ribs like it knows what I’m about to do.
He’s standing by the window when I walk in, arms folded. No hat, no mask, just him. And, of course, those ridiculous biceps straining against the sleeves of his black Holloway’s tee.
“I wanted to?—”
“No,” I say, holding up a hand. “You don’t get to start.”
“Okay...”
I take a breath, steady and sure. “Here’s the deal. The sex? Incredible. Possibly life-ruining. I think we both recognize that.”
His jaw ticks. He opens his mouth like he wants to protest, or agree, or say something poetic and stupid.
I don’t let him.
“But,” I continue, stepping closer, “this isn’t going to be anything more than that. You lied to me for weeks, and while Igetwhy, that doesn’t make it okay. Plus there’s the part about how our families do not get along in the slightest. So we need to be realistic about the fact that this isn’t going anywhere beyond this summer.”
He’s silent. Listening. Watching me like I’m a hurricane he didn’t see coming.
“So,” I say, “if you’re game...we can be friends. With benefits. But that’s it. I don’t want hearts or flowers. I want orgasms and boundaries. And exclusivity as long as we’re doing this.”
A beat passes. Maybe two.
And then his lips curl.
“You’re serious.”
“As a hymnal in hell.”
