Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

“Huh?”

“I said, tell me more.”

Pfft. “I’m not going to pump your ego, thank you very much. You’re surrounded by plenty of people who will.”

Not everyone is you. “I don’t give a shit about them.”

“Every guy says that.”

“No they don’t. Is your father a man-whore? No, he’s not. Is Tripp a man-whore? No, he’s not. My mother would kill me if I slept my way around Chicago. Kill. Me.”

“Only if she found out.”

“Trust me, mi madre has a way of finding out everything, probably because she has six spies working for her.” My sisters are snitches, each one worse than the next, tattling to gain our mother’s favor because in Hispanic culture, the approval of the matriarch is what we aspire to.

Mom is the queen.

The boss.

Letting her down would be humiliating, and I’d do that by sticking my dick into every random woman who came on to me. Which I’ve done in the past—ugh. But those days are over. I’m a different person than I was last month.

“Can we get back to the part where you think I’m good-looking?”

True lowers her head, hiding a smile.

“I saw that,” I tease.

“Saw what?”

“You smiled.”

“Ha, no I didn’t.” She’s not smiling now, but she was, pearly white teeth and glossy lips. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Far be it from me to point out the obvious, but, “You don’t even know me, so you can’t say I’m full of myself. You’ve spent half an hour in my company—have I been an asshole?”

“No.”

“Have I been rude or arrogant?”

“No,” she admits reluctantly.

“See? I’m not a bad guy, and also I’m a pretty decent dancer.”

Her head tilts. “Hmm, that’s certainly true. What other moves do you have?”

Our eyes meet, and my brows rise. Was that a challenge? It sounded like one, though I highly doubt she meant it to be. True doesn’t strike me as the type of girl who plays it coy; if she wants something, she’s going to come out and say it.

No beating around the bush.

If she wants a kiss, she’ll lean in.

If she wants to be swept off her feet, she’ll tell me.

What other moves do you have…what other moves…

We’re buzzed.

We’re at a wedding.

She’s gorgeous, I’m fascinated, the atmosphere is ripe for me to swoop in and plant one on her.

What’s the harm in one little kiss?

When my lips briefly touch hers and then I pull away, True’s fingers touch her mouth, fingers pressed to the spot where my lips were.

I don’t apologize; I’m not sorry.

Still, we both glance around guiltily as if we’ve done something wrong, searching for any displeased gazes, contemptuous stares from her family members.

On the dance floor, there is a ruckus: Tripp Wallace is spread eagle on the hardwood with a crowd gathering around him, his mother hovering frantically.

“What on earth…” True wonders out loud. “Now what’s he up to?”

“Judging by the look on Chandler Westbrooke’s face, he pissed her off.”

“Are you serious? Chandler is tiny—are you implying she had something to do with him ending up on the ground?”

We find out later she did indeed flip True’s brother on his ass, the air in the room buzzing with new energy. A new romance brewing, perhaps, and not just the one between Chandler and Tripp?

The strumming for another slow song begins, the first chords low and rich, and I hold my hand out in an invitation.

She takes it.

I spin her into my arms like Fred Astaire (probably not, but I feel so light on my feet it’s like I’m flying), and she settles in, one hand on my shoulder, another on my waist.

“I feel like I’m at a high school dance,” she says at last.

“Oh? Did you go to lots of those?”

“Um, no—not really.” True lets out a laugh. “Having Tripp and Buzz as brothers was a freaking nightmare. Talk about cock-blockers. They ruined every chance I had when it came to my social life, terrified anyone who even thought about asking me out.”

“I cannot see those two at a high school dance.”

True’s head gives a diminutive shake. “They didn’t go—maybe once or twice, but barely. They were more into sports than girls, not that it mattered if they went to the dances or not. Once word got out that boys were supposed to leave me alone, I spent lots of time standing against the wall of the gym with my girlfriends.”

“Aww, you poor thing.”

Her mouth pouts. “I know, right? I used to think something was wrong with me. Turns out, those teenage boys were too chickenshit to ask me to dance because of my lame brothers.”

Ha. Sounds like something I did to Glory, the only one of my sisters younger than me, and thus the only one I was able to lord anything over.

“Are they always that overprotective?”

“Yes. Always.”

Shit.

That’s not good.

“If either of them had seen you kiss me, they would have torn your lips off.”