“Thanks for opening the door for me, Parker,” she said brightly. “Night, Joe!”
“But—” Joe started, taking a step toward her.
Zoe backed farther into Parker, forcing him to take a step into the house or have them both fall to their asses. She waved at Joe and . . . slammed the door.
Parker laughed. “Good to know you do that to every guy and not just me.”
Zoe whirled around to face him, her eyes a little wild as she put her hands on her hips. “What was that?”
“You slamming the door on yet another man’s nose?”
“Not that.” She gave him a look that said she was contemplating trying to kick his ass. She wouldn’t be able to, not even close, but it would be fun to have her try . . . Not that he was stupid enough to say so.
“You followed me,” she accused without preamble. “You followed me on my date.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We were at the bar when you got there,” she said. “What the hell was that about? Why would you follow me?”
Like he was so hard up he’d actually follow her on purpose?
Shit, okay, yes, he was totally that hard up. “I didn’t follow you. I was meeting Wyatt and Emily for a late dinner.”
At this, she made a sound that conveyed volumes on what she thought of him regardless. “If you saw us, why didn’t you stop by and say hi?” he asked, putting the ball back in her court.
She crossed her arms. “Because . . . because it was a date,” she said. “I didn’t need to hang out with my brother on a date.”
Or you, were the unspoken words.
“How did it go with Joe?” he asked, wondering if he was a complete ass for hoping it had sucked.
She didn’t answer. Which meant it hadn’t gone well. He tried to feel bad about that but he didn’t. Not even a little bit. “We made it an early night,” she said.
“Because of your dress?”
“Oh my God,” she snapped and brushed past him, shoulder-checking him as she went through the living room ahead of him. “You’re impossible. I don’t know why I even try to have a conversation with you.”
He had no idea, either. He was a complete asshole.
“What was that in your hand when you opened the door?” she asked.
“My hand?”
“You tucked something into the back of your jeans,” she said. “Was it . . . a gun?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rolled her eyes, pissed at the world and most definitely him, too. She stalked off.
Then suddenly she stopped short, stared down at her feet for a beat, and then turned back. She came toe to toe with him, hands on her hips, to stare at him.
He met her gaze. She was clearly seriously ticked, and since he had some strong self-preservation instincts, he held his silence.
Finally, she sighed. “Listen,” she said. “I need to do something. Like, to you.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Just go with it.” And she fisted her hands in his shirt, hauled him down to her level, and kissed him.
WTF, his brain said. Oh yeah, his body said, taking all of one nanosecond to get on board. Somehow he managed to hold himself perfectly still because this was her show. But Christ, she’d taken him straight to heaven, pressing her soft, beautiful body in close, murmuring something that sounded like, “Dammit, no man should smell so good, ever . . .” before deepening the connection and kissing the living daylights out of him.
He moved then; he couldn’t help it. His arms came around her, one of his palms sliding to the nape of her neck to hold her in place. The kiss detonated: a hot, intense tangle of tongues and teeth, one of those raw hot kisses that was so real, so in the moment that he lost every single thought in his head. Well, except one, which was Holy shit hotness, Batman. “Zoe,” he heard himself growl, and in response she shivered in his arms and tightened her grip on him before slowly pulling back. “What?” he managed to ask.