“Must have been a power outage.”
“Must have been,” he drawled. “What a shame, though. A whole lot of men would have paid to see Gianna in that get-up of hers.” He tsked in feigned disappointment, and anger burned my throat.
I turned to leave, but . . . fuck it. “One last thing.”
“Yeah?”
When I turned to face him, I punched the smirk right off the fucker’s face.
Ace wiped at the blood on his bottom lip, his eyes lit with amusement. “I guess this makes us even, Allister.”
I stepped into the lobby and, naturally, the one person I fought to avoid was leaning over the front counter, playing cards with the pubescent pool boy.
She wore a short little romper—one of those things she’d have to take all the way off to use the bathroom. So impractical. So her. Her dark hair trailed down her back, the longest strands stopping at a point just before the curve of her ass. It was another obsession of mine. Always wavy and uninhibited, just like her.
She looked over her shoulder as if she could feel my stare.
Fuck, she was pretty. With soft eyes, pouty lips, and a body sex doll companies tried to replicate.
Heat ran to my groin, and I clenched my teeth in annoyance.
Why did the most perfect woman from here to Seattle have to be this one?
She frowned at me, then turned her attention back to the kid as if I wasn’t even here. Women stared at me; Gianna glared. It was just a fact of life I’d come to terms with. Sometimes, I wondered, if she smiled at me genuinely, all coy and sweet, like I was someone she actually liked, would it finally be enough to end my infatuation with her? Reverse psychology and all that.
But no, she reserved those smiles for scrawny pool boys.
Pool boys with a death wish.
Who knew what his excuse was—a stray eyelash on her cheek, a hair out of place, her soft skin was distracting—whatever the fuck it was, he was going to touch her.
Over my goddamn body.
As I walked past the front counter, I grabbed his wrist before his hand could make contact with a strand of her hair, shooting him a touch-her-and-I’ll-kill-you look. He paled. I let him go and continued to the elevator.
“Oh, don’t mind him.” I could hear Gianna roll her eyes behind my back. “He doesn’t have a fun bone in his entire body.”
Maybe not, but my idea of fun certainly wasn’t watching some teenager who wouldn’t even know where to put his dick touch her.
Gianna and I exchanged a look before I stepped onto the elevator. Hers said, Stay out of my business. Before I could stop it, mine said, I’ve been inside that little body and I’ll goddamn say who can touch it.
Her eyes flashed.
Then, she lifted a finger and flipped me off.
THE APARTMENT GODS HATED ME.
I’d been trying not to concern myself with anything Christian Allister-related since that unfortunate afternoon in the back seat of his car. A part of me was still a little humiliated he’d witnessed my breakdown, but the other part couldn’t forget he’d been the best sex of my life.
I was still married.
And I wanted to sleep with the biggest prick I’d ever met again.
Christian wasn’t going to drag me down to hell with him.
Nevertheless, over the next week, I was put within close proximity to the man more than any other neighbor I’d ever had. I’d even physically run into him once. He’d looked at me like I was a vagrant who’d just asked him for money before leaving me there without even attempting a simple apology.
One might think our frequent run-ins would bring us closer together, and, although he did finally respond to one of my cheery, “Good morning’s!” with a dry expression while telling me it was noon, we were still about as close as Cady Heron and Regina George.