Conceal (The Barker Triplets 3)

“I’m not getting into this with you, got it?” His voice was low but there was no mistaking his anger. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“How can you say that?” she said, gulping in air so dramatically he was surprised her tits didn’t pop out. “We’re dating.” Her voice rose several notches.

Beau took a good, long, hard look at Lane Summers. Other than the obvious charms that nearly fell out of her towel, what the hell had he seen in her?

“Not anymore.” He stepped back. “I’ve got to shower. Tucker and I are due at the diamond in an hour. You can come and watch, you can stay here, or you can turn your pretty little ass around and fly back home. I really don’t care.”

“Seriously?” He was almost to the bedroom when she sniffled. “Are we breaking up over this?”

Holy. Christ.

He thought Tucker snorted and shot him a warning look, before he glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “Darlin’, we’re adults. We don’t break up. We see people. And then we don’t. That’s how it is.”

“You’re an asshole.” Gone was any pretense of seduction.

He shrugged and headed for the shower. “I’ve been called worse.”

Chapter Seventeen

“YOU’RE NOT WEARING that to the baseball game.”

> Betty glanced up. She was bent over, fingers caught in the ties of her cleats and swearing like a trucker as she struggled with them. It had been ages since she’d played ball—probably ten years—and the laces felt as if they were glued together. She’d already broken a nail and was about to lose it.

Matt glared at her from her bed, big arms crossed, hair askew, frown already in place.

“Sweetie, do I have to explain this to you again? Just because you slept over doesn’t give you the right to be up in my business.”

An eyebrow arched. “If we actually had sex…would that change things?”

She shook her head. “Hell, no.”

“That’s what I figured.”

He rolled out of bed with a groan, still wearing his jeans and T-shirt from the day before—though he’d managed to lose his socks. He stretched long arms above his head and Betty watched him, a half smile on her face. He really was a fine piece of ass. Too bad his ass wasn’t for her.

“Are you really going to do this?” he asked.

“Damn right I am.”

Betty glanced at herself in her mirror, though it was on the small side, a throwback from her tweens—and she had to bend over once more.

She wiggled her butt and glanced over her shoulder. “Look good?”

Matt angled his head. “Well, if half of your ass hanging out of those Daisy Dukes means looking good, you hit it out of the park my friend.” He chuckled. “No pun intended.”

“Good.”

“Christ, every man at Henning Park is going to be drooling whenever you’re on the field.”

Her makeup was a touch more dramatic than she would normally wear this early on a Saturday, but the effect was worth it. The dark grey kohl expertly enhanced her eyes giving them an exotic edge, while her lips were at their pouty best. She’d pulled her hair into a high ponytail and coupled with the insanely short, shorts, the team jersey she’d cut to bare her stomach, and socks hiked up to her knees—she looked like every sport nut’s dream girl.

“It’s why they want me in this stupid tournament.” She shrugged. “And you know me…I don’t mind giving them what they want.”

“Huh.”

She eyed him through the mirror. “What does that mean?”

“In spite of what you said last night, I don’t believe you.” He paused dramatically, his voice hitched an octave higher as he mimicked her. “I don’t want Beau Simon and I sure as hell don’t like him.”