Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

Can't say I blame him. The opportunity is exciting, and I'm practically giddy.

Then he leans in, and in that moment I know that Joy was right about Greg wanting more. It feels like the world is shifting into slow motion, and I press my hand to his chest and lean back, whispering, "Greg, no. I'm sorry, but no."

I see the mortification color his face as he practically leaps backwards away from me. "Shit. Fuck. I overstepped. The moment. I didn't--"

"It's okay," I say. "It's just that I--"

I pause, because how do I tell a guy that there's no zing with him? Especially when I'm measuring that zing factor against a guy I'm never going to see again, and probably shouldn't even think about. A guy who's obviously broken, and yet who keeps popping into my thoughts at all the most inconvenient times.

A guy who's now set the standard for zing, and it's a bar that Greg just doesn't reach.

"You just want to be friends," he says, saving me from finishing.

"Is that so bad?"

For a moment, he simply looks at me, and I wish that I could read his thoughts. Then he shakes his head. "Honestly, it's probably better. I've got too many ex-girlfriends who aren't even in my life anymore. That would suck if it were you."

"It would," I agree as relief sweeps through me. "Especially since we're going to take the real estate world by storm."

"True, that." He tilts his head, as if trying to find an answer to some unknown question.

"What?"

"Is there someone else?"

"Greg..."

He holds up a hand, pushing away my words. "Not jealous, I swear. I'm just curious."

"No," I say, because it's true.

But what I don't tell him is that even though there's no man in my life, for the first time in forever, at least there's the idea of one.

* * *

"Terminator or Casablanca?" he asks, holding up two DVDs.

After Anderson left, we'd tried to get back into the groove of painting the bathroom, but we were both too distracted by the possibility of the business. And, to be honest, after Greg's mini-pass, I don't think either one of us wanted the close quarters of his tiny bathroom.

"These are my choices?" I ask, wondering if he's realizes he's picked two doomed romances. "Pass me your list."

Since he keeps his list of movies to study on his phone, he forwards it to me by text. I'm pulling my phone out of my purse to read it when the phone rings in my hand.

I glance at the screen, then almost drop it. Marjorie.

Even though I'd told Joy to tell Marjorie I was down for another job, I wasn't expecting to hear from her quite so soon. For a moment, I consider letting it go to voicemail, because maybe I was acting rashly.

Then I think about Lyle. Except, of course, she won't be calling about him. One girl, one time. That's how she said he rolled.

Which means she's calling about a new job. A job with a guy who's not Lyle. A job I don't really want to take even though I need the money. But at the same time, I do want to take it, because I need the money.

It's just that I'm not sure if I can do it, and--

"Aren't you going to answer?"

I yelp, startled, then press the button out of reflex. "Hello," I whisper, then hear Marjorie's relieved voice.

"Oh, good. I was afraid I wouldn't catch you, and this is extremely time sensitive. I have another job."