Page 43 of Colt

Constantly? Inappropriately?

I just can’t figure her out. Is she for real? Or is she full of shit?

What if I gave her the benefit of the doubt? I could just try it. If I get burned, it ain’t gonna hurt all that much. Right?

As she straightens, her eyes land on my face. One side of her mouth kicks up, like she knows I’ve been checking her out while also having a small crisis of conscience.

“I don’t need help.” She hikes a tote bag over her shoulder. “It’s just these two suitcases, and I can wheel⁠—”

“Nope.” I can’t look at her as I grab the suitcases. The room smells like that perfume. It’s also immaculate. She stripped the bed and neatly folded the dirty sheets, which lie in a stack on top of the comforter. Shutters are closed. Not so much as a speck of dust or forgotten sock in sight.

Always so fucking perfect. And respectful. And lovely smelling.

My hatred for her burns a hole right through me.

It’s not hatred, dipshit. It’s hunger.

“Is that the only word you know tonight?” She pins me with a glare.

“Nope.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“I don’t think I’m funny at all. Let’s go.”

Her bags are heavy. Not a light packer, then. Which, great. High-maintenance girls are not my type.

I kiss Mom good night and tip my chin to Dad, thanking them for having us.

“Lainey, you let us know if you need anything, all right?” Mom waves to us from the front porch. “I drove over to the apartment earlier to make sure everything was in order. But obviously I’m here if I missed something.”

“Thank y’all for the amazing hospitality, Paige. Dinner was delicious.”

I see Dean’s little head moving in the back seat of my truck. Hopefully he’s buckling himself in. It’s a new skill he just mastered. My back will be forever grateful.

Lainey opens the trunk of the cute little Jetta parked beside Mom’s Expedition. The Jetta is the same fire engine red as Lainey’s lipstick.

In true Lainey fashion, the trunk is neat as a pin. Totally empty, the upholstery marked with lines from a recent vacuum. I can only imagine what she thought of the mess inside my truck.

I lift the heavier of the two suitcases into the trunk without a word.

“You talk to your dad yet?” she asks.

The question startles me. Putting a hand on the Jetta’s raised tailgate, I turn my head. “That’s no one’s business but mine.”

“You made it my business too when you took your butt-hurt feelings out on me. Y’all should talk. You need to ask him why he didn’t consult you about hiring me. Maybe then you’d hate me a little less.”

She’s right, of course. Which only makes my hate burn hotter.

“Aw, Dallas, I thought you were enjoying this little game we got goin’ on.”

She arches a brow. “If you think this is fun, you really need to get out⁠—”

Buzz.

The sound fills the space between us. Speaking of that space, when did she get in my face like this? She’s close enough that I can make out the faint scar that bisects one of her eyebrows.

The buzzing continues. Louder now.