A Redo (Sterling Shore 6)

“Shit. Did I do that?” I ask, horrified when I see they are indeed claw marks.

“Yep. Right before you started calling out my name.”

“You dick! You said—”

“You brought it up,” he interrupts, his laughter returning. “I was just answering your question.”

He looks too good in the morning. It’s really not fair.

“You should go,” I grumble, covering my face with my hands, not brave enough to face him any longer.

“Not until this isn’t awkward. Come on. Your calendar says you’re off today. Let’s make some rounds for my mother’s party this weekend. She said you’re coming—no pun intended. I can drive you and Angel.”

No pun intended my ass.

His mother’s early December Christmas party. Shit. How did I forget about that?

And he checked my calendar? Why is he checking my calendar? I only have today off because they were overstaffed and asked for a volunteer to take off. I volunteered because I’m still recovering from the back-to-back surgeries that went on last week.

“I can drive us. You probably have a date,” I say. Okay, so that makes me pathetic for fishing for information, but… I don’t know what’s wrong with me right now.

“No date. So you’re stuck with me. Come on. I’m supposed to swing by Rye’s house first and pick up some of the Christmas shit he picked up for Mom. Then I have to head over to the Colton Estate and pick up some more things. You get the idea. It’ll be a distraction, and it’ll help squash the awkwardness.”

I laugh because I can’t help it.

“Why are you running these errands? And why is Rye picking stuff up for her?” I ask in deflection. “Don’t you rich people hire other people for that sort of thing?”

His eyebrow cocks up. “Us rich people?” He laughs lightly while rolling his eyes. “Mom has always made us get our hands dirty, for the record. Rye is part of the family, since he and Ethan grew up like brothers. Rye has ‘chores’ just like I do. But he forgot to take the stuff to Mom’s, so I’m swinging by on my way. Now stop stalling and get ready.”

“I need a shower first.”

He smirks, and my face heats when I see the promise of more mockery stirring in his mischievous blue eyes. “I bet. Sounded like it was an intense dream.”

I try to slap at him, but he dives away, laughing as he avoids my sad attempts to strike. Growling, I lunge at him, but he catches me effortlessly and effectively pins my arms to my sides while walking me back into the bathroom.

This is seriously not a good position to be in right now. All I’d have to do is lean my head back, and he’d have access to bend down and kiss me for as long as he wanted. Then we could…

No! Stop it, Allie. Not going to happen. It can’t happen.

“No taunting me about my dream,” I say, pretending that my entire body isn’t craving him to lose that damn control he always has over himself.

He snickers while pushing me toward the shower. “Fine. No more taunting. You shower; I’ll go home and shower; and I’ll come back to get you in a few.”

I don’t believe him one bit when he smiles again, but I’ll be damned if that grin doesn’t infect me and make me smile, too.

“Are these errands… what kind of errands? Besides picking up stuff from Rye.”

“Mundane stuff. Nothing special. But, like I said, it’ll kill the awkwardness.”

I can handle a day of mundane stuff. Just as long as I don’t have to touch Wren. Or see him shirtless. Or feel him pressed against me… Stop! I have to stop thinking.

“Mundane sounds perfect,” I say, cursing the fact I still have images of him licking and biting my ass. That’s seriously the last time I read one of those books. Lesson learned.

***

ALLIE

“Duck!” Rye yells just as we step into his yard, but I don’t react on the blind faith Wren does. And… I’m punished for it.

I scream when something explodes against my face, and a cold, wet drizzle of liquid slides down my body, soaking me. What the hell?

Wren bursts out laughing from his crouched position, standing slowly as I rake water out of my eyes with my fingers. My hair is smattered against my face with a clingy feel, and my shirt is definitely drenched on one side.

“What was that?” I ask, gasping a little when the cool air strikes against the wetness all over me.

“Water balloon,” Rye says as though it’s obvious. “I told you to duck.”

“Why did you throw it at me?” I demand.

He shrugs, looking around me very warily. “You just happened to step in front of her. Now I don’t know where she went.”

I look around, taking in the childlike structures of the yard that I didn’t notice before. In this ritzy subdivision, Rye’s house has numerous things that have been pulled out to play as barricades, including a desk that is turned up on its side. A few car hoods have been stood up in the ground, along with things that look like stage props or something.