No Saint (Wild Men 6)

Guess my parting comment to her hit a nerve—as I intended it to. I wanted it to sting her, hurt her, keep her away from me.

I’m not so sure what I was thinking. Not sure I want that now.

She’s wearing the diner’s uniform—white apron, dark skirt and shirt, and I can’t help the way my eyes stray to her tits.

Those damn curves. They got my attention years back, and now they’re a serious threat to my self-control.

She shifts her weight on her other foot. “I guess that’s a no to coffee. Did you want anything else? You know you can’t stay unless you order something. Boss's orders.”

My stomach is growling with hunger, but I’m too damn distracted, by her, by everything. “Pancakes.”

“Always the same thing,” she mutters, pulling out a notepad she had clipped on her apron strap and scribbles my order down. Or maybe she just wrote “jerk” to get it off her chest. “Anything else?”

Then something else strikes me. “Wait... you know what I normally order?”

This time she rolls her eyes. “Did someone drop you on your head as a baby? I don’t care what you normally order, Ross. You want pancakes, I’ll get them for you.”

But she somehow knew I always get pancakes. She fucking knew, and I have no damn clue why the thought makes me grin so wide.

I’m about to open my big mouth and spew some smartass comment, when her attention wanders from me.

Someone has walked in. He goes and sits at a table to our left, and her gaze strays there, her frown fading.

Well, I’ll be damned. Jenner Hawkins. Did you know he dyes his hair blond? Fucker always tried to be me. Even imitates my hairstyle and clothes, or used to, back when I gave a fuck about that shit.

And she’s staring at him like he’s the second coming.

The flare of anger coming back to warm the blood in my veins catches me by surprise and the words falling out of my stupid mouth are not the ones I intended.

Whatever those were. I’m not even sure.

“Jenner, huh? Going for my lookalikes doesn’t look good on you, sweet cheeks,” I drawl as I lean back in my chair. I wave a hand down at myself. “You really should try the original. Brand new, one hundred percent reliable awesome sex machine.”

Now she’s gaping at me. Well, at least I got her atte

ntion back. I watch the emotions play on her face, in those green eyes with the long lashes, see the flash of shock, the hook of old pain, and burning fury that finally swallows up all the rest.

“Really, Ross.” Her voice has gone colder than Satan’s tits. “I tried you, years ago, remember? Tried to live alongside you, but you shit all over that.”

The kitten has grown claws. “Maybe you should try getting naked with me.”

“I don’t think so. See, tiny brains and even tinier dicks just don’t do it for me.”

Score for Luna. I chuckle, the sound startling me. “No girl has ever complained about my dick, just so you know. In fact, they all come back for more.”

She takes a step forward, glaring, lifting the coffee pot in one hand as if she wants to hit me with it, wipe the smile off my face. “I mean it. You don’t do it for me, Ross Jones. You’re an asshole, and you belong in the hole you crawled out of. You should crawl right back inside. Make the world a better place.”

“Ouch,” I mutter, my laughter dying. “Harsh.”

But just. This girl’s on fire. And I deserve it all.

She turns her back to me and I watch her saunter away, that short skirt, those shapely legs, those hips. That girl. Truth is, I have no reply to what she said. She’s right. Right about me. Right to be damn mad at me.

There’s a tightness in my fucking chest I don’t understand. Strangely, I’m caught between smiling and scowling at her retreating back.

Respect. That’s what I feel. She called me out on my bullshit. I’m not used to that. Nowadays guys beat me up and call me unimaginative names. Nobody has ever put me in my place like she has.

I mean, chicks dig me. They like my eyes, they say, my jaw, my mouth, my body. But this girl is immune to my charms.