“Stick.”
I raised a brow. “Apollo.”
He grinned. Everson must have had some beer too; it was the only potion that seemed to bring out his full smile, at least for me.
“Later, Monaghan.”
“Bender’s driving, you dumb asses.”
The last guy off the boat nodded with a polite smile. I recognized him as blond-bun guy from Everson’s party, the one who seemed to know how to pronounce Trzy. He dangled a set of car keys.
“You must be Bender.”
“Holden Bender, sober and at your service. How’s your cat?”
He remembered me. Lovely.
“She’s still a real party animal, one of the most sought after pussies in the building.”
Holden’s eyes raised for a second before he broke into a loud laugh, giving a quick glance back on the boat to Cage, who shook his head.
“I like her, Monaghan.” He continued to chuckle as he walked up the ramp.
Cage and I had a stare-off until the sound of Bender’s tires skidded in the dirt signaling their departure.
“I don’t fish.”
Cage grinned. “You grew up in Tahoe. How can you not fish?”
“Simple. I just don’t. Boating? Yep. Skiing? Yep. Hiking? You betcha. Fishing? Not my thing.” I tossed my purse into the boat and then stepped on without taking Cage’s proffered hand. “When exactly did you become such a fisherman?” I flicked one of the lures attached to his hat.
Cage grabbed my wrist, giving me a warning glare that melted into a smile as he pressed his lips to the inside of my wrist. “My grandpa fished and so did my dad when I was really young. Fishing, camping… basically anything outdoors.” He hooked my waist with one arm and pulled me onto his lap with my back to the steering wheel as the boat hummed, sitting idle next to the dock.
“And wedgies? Who taught you how to give wedgies?” I narrowed my eyes.
He shrugged. “Kids in the neighborhood when I lived in Portland.”
I kept the “you’re going to pay for that, buddy” to myself. The element of surprise was my best bet for success.
“You look seventy in that hat.”
“You don’t like my hat?”
I liked his white muscle shirt and his defined legs beneath mine—the dimples were a given—but the bucket hat was… anti-sexy. Yet, the guy managed to make it work.
“So, I’m your favorite lake, huh?”
His gaze fell to my lips. It was crazy how the slightest shift of his eyes affected me so much. My mouth dried up as my pulse accelerated.
I wet my lips.
His gaze descended to my chest.
My nipples hardened.
Mr. I Make Stupid Hats Look Sexy manipulated my body with nothing more than a look. It was subtle but profound, like the effect of the sun.
“You’re my favorite everything.” He met my eyes again and smirked. Of course he knew what he did to me. There was no hiding it.
