Her brows rose. “You don’t remember, do you?”
“No. No, I do not.” But he’d memorized her backside, in that skirt. Ought to count for something. “Jog my memory?”
She shook her head with an irritated sigh and stepped inside. “Good night, Vince. Thanks for the company. Sorry it had to end here.”
He grabbed her hand. “Oh, hey—come on, now. That’s not fair.”
“I was down for maybe being your random one-night stand, but not an anonymous one.” Her fingers wriggled free. Her voice had risen, cool tones lost to something far hotter. “I wasn’t feeling real choosy tonight myself, but I do have some standards.”
“When you live in a town this small, you don’t get much practice at memorizing new names.”
“All the same, maybe work on that before you try to fuck me again. Sound like a plan?” She wasn’t shouting, but every measured word hit him like a slap. He kinda liked it.
He nodded. “Sure. Sorry.”
“Good.” Her feathers were smoothing, but just this taste of her temper, just the pink staining her throat and cheeks . . . shit. The ache knotted deep in Vince’s belly felt more urgent than ever.
“You still up for a ride, Sunday?”
She blew out a tired breath. “I don’t know. Show up and find out, I guess.”
“Will do.” He took a couple steps back, paused with one foot still on the concrete. “Like I said—sorry.”
She shut the door on him. A lock clicked and the lights came on, but the curtain swept shut before he could steal a peek at Kim’s bed—
Kim. “Kim!” He went to the window, rapping the glass. “It’s Kim, right?”
The curtain swished aside, framing her. She mouthed her muted reply clearly. “Too. Late.”
“Shit.”
She shut him out.
He knew when he’d fucked his chances, and he also knew the line between flirtation and harassment. But as he started across the lot, blood pumping so much mischief, he couldn’t help himself. He turned on his heel and strode back toward room six, hopped onto the walkway and knocked.
Her shadow darkened the curtain as she passed, and when she opened the door, she kept the chain lock on. “What?”
“So, Kim.” He hooked his finger around the chain, toying. “You’ll tell me when it’s time, right?”
She blinked wearily. “Time?”
“Whenever it’s cool for me to try to fuck you again.”
Her eyes rolled up. “Go away, Vince.”
He smiled. “Whenever you’re ready, just say the word. Can’t wait for the chance. Till then . . .” He held his palms up, miming deference, and took a step backward.
“Yes, you’ll be needing those,” she returned. “It’s going to be a long wait.”
“See you Sunday. Five a.m.”
“Five a.m.?”
“Sunrise, sweetheart. Dress in layers. No heels. I’ll find you a helmet. Oh and wear that perfume—that shit drives me up a goddamn wall.”
And off he went, giving her no chance to argue. He felt the heat of her glare on his back. It felt as good as a curious hand on his dick, and he smiled to himself. The door thumped shut, and he could hear her voice through the thin wood.
“Son of a bitch.”
The smile became a grin as he aimed himself downtown. “To be continued, sweetheart.”
? ? ?
Kim fell asleep in a foul and frustrated mood, and awoke in a matching one. Vince’s come-on echoed in her memory.
Ask me in.
The nerve. It hadn’t even been a question, had it? More a command.
Fuck him.
And fuck the part of her that had been half a breath from doing just as he’d suggested.
She packed her camera bag gruffly, stuffing lens wipes and memory cards into the pockets as if they’d insulted her.