Scoring With Him (Men of Summer 1)

But it’s not Grant I’m trying to convince.

It’s me.

Because the way this man looks at me, with sex in his eyes, dirty deeds on his lips, makes it nearly impossible for me to resist.

“I know we can’t, Deck.”

That. Right there. His boy-next-door voice. That’s part of why I want him so much. I shake my head and laugh futilely. “Even that gets me going. The way you say my nickname.”

A smile curves his lips. “Deck.” He’s all gravelly and raspy, enjoying knowing what it does to me, and it does the trick.

“Mmm. Like I said . . .”

Grant jerks his chair closer to the table, licks the corner of his lips, and murmurs, “The way you call me rookie . . .”

My neck heats. My blood incinerates. “You like that?” I take a beat, lingering on his gorgeous face, the blue flames in his eyes flickering higher. “Rookie?”

He shudders, nodding. “Yeah. Makes me hard.”

“Jesus . . . fuuuuck.” I am broiling. “Do you get what I mean? Do you see the problem?”

“I do, Deck. I do.”

A bolt of heat slides down my spine. “I’m trying to tell you all the reasons why this is a bad idea, and now all I can think about is your cock.”

He shifts in his seat and swallows visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I want to lick it. “Pretty much all I’m aware of too,” he whispers. “Safe to say all the blood in my body went straight to my dick when you said you were thinking of us fucking.”

I groan.

He shudders at the sound, his lips parting, his shoulders rising and falling.

“Dear God, I am going to climb across the table right now,” I warn.

“I think you know I won’t stop you,” Grant says.

And that is my reminder—I have to be the strong one. I have to be strong for both of us. I’ve got to look out for the rookie.

I let out a long exhale and lean back in my chair, searching for something else to focus on, when the man from the bar arrives. Ink crawls down one arm, and his smile is bright.

“Can I get you two a drink?” His voice is cheery, and it helps break me out of the haze.

“Iced tea for me, please,” I say.

The man shifts his gaze to my companion. “And you?”

“Diet Coke, please,” Grant answers.

“Great. Can I interest you in any food? Our Sonoran sandwich is pretty darn good, if I do say so myself. The barbecue sauce is to die for.”

“I’m not sure yet,” I say, and the guy nods, then glances once more at Grant, his gaze snagging on the bands on Grant’s biceps that look like water.

The man’s smile deepens, his eyes flickering with recognition. “Oh, wait. You’re Grant, aren’t you? My sister mentioned you to me. I’m River. Welcome to Arizona.”

“Thanks. Good to be here.”

River’s eyes return to Grant’s arm. “I heard you were a regular at Ink Lore. My dad did that one, right?”

Grant smiles and taps his arm. “Yeah, he did the bands a couple years back. Echo did my newest one a month ago, and I love it.”

“She’s a rock star of tattoo artists, but she works all the time. I keep telling her to get out of the shop and get some vitamin D. Go for a hike, Echo! She’s like a ghost, that girl,” he says with a laugh.

“All that time in the chair, though, is working for her. She’s super talented,” Grant says. For a second, I wonder if he’ll lift his shirt, show his arrow to this guy.

I grit my teeth. He better not.

The man taps his finger on the table. “Glad you could come by The Lazy Hammock.”

Something snaps. “He’s with me,” I bark out, jealousy ravaging my insides.

With a sweet grin, the man turns to me. “No worries, hun. I’m not hitting on your guy. Not my style.”

And I’m an asshole. I just snarled at the owner. It’s not like he’s some random dude flirting with Grant while I’m off taking a piss.

“My bad. Sorry. I just . . .” I don’t even know what to say. I don’t normally react like that. Hell, I never react like this.

“No worries. But I do understand why you’d feel possessive.” The guy dips his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If he were mine, I’d make sure no one got near him either. Now, why don’t you two let me know if you decide you want some food. I’m River, and I’m happy to help.”

He leaves, and Grant smirks. “You’re just a little jealous.”

“I’m a prick too, it seems,” I mutter.

“Yeah, but it’s sexy,” he says. “Your jealousy.”

“Is it?”

“Very, very sexy.” He nibbles on the corner of his mouth.

All the breath leaves my lungs as a hand slides onto my knee under the table, just below my shorts. He’s touching my leg, and I want to pounce on him. I push my knee closer, letting him know he can touch me all he wants. He takes my invitation and spreads his fingers wider. And now I know my knee is an erogenous zone, and Grant Blackwood has claimed it as his own territory.