It doesn’t matter why I got Red here. I’m winning the bet. Also, I get to bang her. That’s the only thing I decided to care about as she shuffles up the pathway in my leather jacket.
Another first. I’ve never invited a girl to my dad’s cabin, and I damn sure have never let one wear my Reaper's jacket. I don’t know why I put it on her after that kiss—or why I didn’t ask for it back after she agreed to follow me in her car to my dad’s cabin.
I told myself it was because I didn’t want to risk breaking the spell. Candy, that one waitress who made sure none of the other servers told Red who I really am, had just brought all her stuff out to her in one of those zip-up totes that some girls carry as a purse. Everything was set. Why risk asking for it back?
But my chest pangs with a weird feeling as I watch her jog up the cabin’s front steps huddled in my jacket. Like I’m proud or something because it’s my leather keeping her warm and protected on this cold Tennessee night.
She stops on the top step when she sees me waiting at the door for her.
“Hi again,” she says, her voice soft.
“Hi again,” I answer.
I’m tempted to close the distance between us. Pull her in the rest of the way. Then I remember I’m Griffin Latham—even if she doesn’t know that.
I make myself stay right where I am. Wait for her to come to me, like she should’ve from the start.
But as cold as she looked coming up the cabin steps, she doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get inside. She also stays right where she is. And she tilts her head quizzically at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
She shifts from boot to boot, her expression wary. “Like me shivering on your front step is something you want to eat for dinner.”
“I already had dinner tonight, but I could do with some dessert,” I answer, leaning hard into the innuendo, same as I do when I’m rapping about weed and pussy. “That will warm you up, I bet.”
“Smooth.” She squints at me in that adorable way of hers. “Are you always this slick? Is that why all the other servers were practically lining up to go upstairs with you?”
“All the other servers except you,” I point out instead of answering her loaded question. Then before she can throw something else at me that I don’t want to answer, I ask, “You want to come in and stop being cold or what?”
“Yes,” she says.
But she doesn’t step forward, and my stomach hardens with a new possibility. “You chickening out?”
“No,” she answers quickly. “Once I make a decision, it’s made. No turning back. That’s my personal motto. I’m just remembering this time my cousin texted me out of the blue that she was meeting some random guy at his cabin in Latham County.”
“What happened?” I ask, hoping to hell this isn’t a story about her cousin getting axe murdered.
She glances nervously at the woods surrounding the cabin. “They ended up getting married. She just gave birth to their first kid, and they’re already talking about having another one.”
Red looks from the woods back to me.
“But that’s not gonna happen here, right?” she asks, squinting at me. “This is just a one-night stand? All challenge, no substance?”
I think she’s teasing me. But, just in case, I answer, “I’m not a fan of marriage or kids, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”
She grins at me, letting me off the hook. “Okay then, yes, I’ll come in just for one night.”
She finally walks forward, and I step back to let her enter.
But there’s a weird, awkward churning in my gut where the anticipation should be as I close the door behind her. I’ve finally got Red where I wanted her, but it feels like I’ve just told her another lie to get her in here. Even though it’s true. I’ve never wanted marriage and kids. I consider that a fate worse than death. So why did it feel wrong to say that out loud to her? What the hell is wrong with me tonight?
“Whose home is this?”
I come out of my weird thoughts to find her looking around the cabin’s front room with a suspicious frown.
“This place is too nice to be a vacation rental—especially in Latham County. I don’t think most people around here could even tell you what an Airbnb is. But I know it doesn’t belong to you.”
“How do you know it’s not mine?” I ask. I’m more curious than insulted about her assumption.
She glances around. “Dark, elegant furniture, rustic stone fireplace, raised beam ceiling, built-in wet bar, ski chalet window overlooking the lake. So many antlers, I can practically hear Gaston from Beauty and the Beast singing about how he uses them in all of his decorating. Yeah, I don’t think so. Unless there’s a gentleman hunter who smokes cigars under all that Reaper.”