You Own My Heart (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 4)

“I did. Took Hudsy and the boys home.”

Frowning, she looked at him. “Why’d you come back?”

He shrugged. “Thought I’d catch up on some paperwork.”

“At this time of night?”

He ran his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Seemed like a good idea, but not feeling it at the moment.”

She watched him for a few seconds. “That’s ’cause you’re tired,” she said, pushing the tumbler over to him.

“Tired?”

“Hell yeah. All that flirting.”

“Flirting?”

Honey held up the glass and downed the contents in one gulp. She poured another one. “Jesus, Nash. Are you hard of hearing?”

He moved closer, and the shadows played across his face, giving him an edge he so didn’t need. The man was way too handsome for his own good. His hair glistened beneath the dim lights, and a slow grin touched his mouth as he raised his glass. He knew it too. His dark eyes regarded her in silence, and for a weird moment, Honey couldn’t breathe. She looked away, mouth dry.

What. The. Hell.

“I didn’t know you were paying such close attention.”

Okay. She breathed out. She was fine. “It’s kind of hard to miss when ninety percent of the women in here fall all over themselves trying to get you to notice them.” Honey turned back to Nash as he bent over and grabbed a couple of cold beers from the fridge. She couldn’t help it—she was only human after all—her eyes touched every single inch of his gorgeous jean-clad butt. He could seriously model the damn things, which, for some reason irritated the hell out of her.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration,” he said with a wink. “I’d say it was closer to eighty percent.”

“Whatever the number, those women are pathetic.” She made a face, wishing her tongue would stay put and shut the hell up.

“They’re just looking for a connection. You can’t fault them for that.”

She shook her head. “They’re looking for sex.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

She accepted the offered bottle and leaned against the bar, letting the quiet wash over her. Her neck was tight, she was tired and cranky and hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. She didn’t want to think about Nash doing the horizontal dance. And maybe she should think about that. Why did she care? God. She needed to get laid. Maybe that would pull her out of the funk that had settled over her like a shroud.

She grimaced at the thought, and her mind wandered to Hudson Blackwell. They’d chatted several times tonight. He’d been friendly and seemed like a good guy. Which sucked. It was so much easier to dislike a douchebag. She wanted Hudson to be a douchebag. She wanted all the Blackwells to be douchebags. And none of that seemed to be true.

“You want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Nash’s quiet words turned her head again, and she regarded him carefully. He didn’t miss a thing.

“You want to tell me why you didn’t go home with Jade Daniels?”

“I will, if you tell me what’s up with you.” He grinned and tipped the bottle back, taking a long drink before setting it down on the bar. She did the same.

A strange sort of electricity charged the air, and suddenly, the hair on the back of Honey’s neck stood on end. Something was up. Something had changed. She didn’t know what that something was, but it sure as hell had her attention now. Nash Booker was the kind of man most sane women should avoid at all costs. “Should” being the key word.

“You go first.” She leaned against the bar and unclipped her hair. The relief was immediate, and she barely stopped the groan that sat at the back of her throat. His eyes darkened, and he made no effort to look away as she ran her hands along her scalp, shaking out the thick, loose waves. He shoved his hands into his front pockets, shrugged, and then surprised her by answering her question.

“Jade expected me to go home with her tonight. I don’t do well with that kind of thing.”

She studied him for a few seconds. “Is this a control thing? Or don’t you like sleepovers.”

Nash seemed to consider his answer. “We had a casual thing going. I was upfront about that. Casual implies a lack of expectation. Once that changes, things get complicated, and I don’t do complicated.”

“You don’t do relationships.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.