Page 96 of Resist

She crosses her arms on the scarred wood top and leans forward so that her cleavage and the hint of a tattoo that looks more trashy than sexy peeks out above the top of her bra. “Mm-hmm.” A bat of her lashes. A lick of her lips. Right on cue. “Let me guess. Wall Street?”

“Trading’s not my thing.”

“What is?” The innuendo owns her voice.

“Screwing people over,” I deadpan with an arrogant smirk that makes her falter momentarily until she sees the dollar signs that might come with it.

“Like who?” A snap of her gum. “The mob?” A twirl of her finger in her hair. “Politician?” A pout of her lips. “An accountant?”

I lean forward, motion to her to come closer, and lower my voice to a whisper, the asshole in me not hard to conjure up. “Women.”

Her eyes widen, and then she scoots back abruptly. “Jesus. All you had to say was you were married.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Not married. No.”

“Then whoever it is has you by the balls and the heart, and I feel sorry for her if she plays with you.”

I stare at her for a beat—at the thick blue eyeliner that takes her pretty features and makes them look cheap. “That’s probably the truest thing I’ve heard all day,” I say and down the rest of my drink.

The heat of it is gone.

The flavor of it crap.

And the only thought in my head with the waitress’s tits right in my face is I lied to Vaughn.

All whiskey doesn’t taste the same.

Just like all women aren’t the same. Just like there are different rules for different ones.

I stare after Sandy as she pats my shoulder on her way to get me another drink, and I know what it is.

In a world of women so ready to play the part, Vaughn doesn’t want to. She fought it every step of the way as Saxony. She fought me every step of the way.

There’s always exceptions.

Always fucking exceptions.

When I stumble out of the bar two hours later, way more worse for the wear, Sandy’s tip is big enough to pay her rent for the next month.

It’s the least I could do for making me realize Vaughn just might actually be worth the fight.

Then again, if I’m here, I already knew that.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Vaughn

My shift was long and full of assholes with too much grab-ass and crappy tips. I’m sure my snapping at my customers to get their hands off me didn’t help either but . . . just no.

My mood is shitty, my fight with Ryker still front and center in my mind—how much I miss him more so—but my stubbornness is still holding out.

Until I walk up my porch and see the flowers sitting there on my stoop.

“More?” I murmur as if I’m pissed and yet secretly swoon inside. A girl can be mad but still swoon.

I told myself I had to give it a few days before I called him back. A few days to see if I still felt this way—miserable, missing him, ready to tell him the why behind what happened—and then he goes and does this.

More flowers.