But I had no choice.
My mom had texted me at least a dozen times to make sure I wasn’t backing out. During a moment of pure insanity I even entertained the thought of just hiring someone who looked like Avery, so as not to risk the real Avery slipping up and ruining everything. The restaurant was known for its dark lighting. Hell, El Gaucho gave patrons flashlights for reading the menus! An impersonator could work! Maybe. Okay, probably not.
They knew her too well.
“Okay!” a voice said to my right. “Before you freak out, just know, Austin dressed me. I forgot how nice this place is and—”
My mouth dropped open as Avery crossed her arms—her breasts spilling over the neckline of her red dress.
“Is that whiskey?” She slipped the glass from my fingers and tossed back my entire drink, then slammed the glass onto the counter. “I’ll have another.” She winked at the bartender. “My dad’s paying.”
Avery was pointing at me.
“Remember what I said about being nice.” I pinched her side.
She gave a little yelp and somehow landed in my lap.
I froze.
She froze.
Our eyes locked.
And maybe I was already half-drunk, because I didn’t shove her off onto the floor or start yelling at her to behave.
Maybe it was because of the dress.
I was a sucker for red.
It was a shade darker than her hair. The thick straps tightened over her shoulders into a complicated maze of twists and turns dipping low and kissing her ass.
With a curse, I sucked in a breath and waited for her to move.
But it was Avery.
She never did what I expected her to. Instead, she wiggled her ass and glanced over her shoulder. “This nice enough for you?”
Do not react. Do not react.
Be mature.
The bigger person.
I slapped her ass cheek and shrugged. “You’re getting warmer.”
Her grin was deadly—I should have known better than to challenge someone who hadn’t used training wheels when she was young. Avery rejected anything that made her feel like a kid and went straight to a ten-speed.
She was way out of her league now.
And yet, tonight, she was going to pretend that we were in a relationship, pretend that we didn’t have a shitload of history between us—pretend that a few days ago I wasn’t in someone else’s arms.
“How’s it feel, I wonder?”
The bartender placed a napkin in front of her, the drink followed. She slowly lifted it to her lips and sipped.
“Your ass?” I asked with a hoarse voice. “Or having the bartender think I’m the creepiest dad on the planet?”
She burst out laughing, nearly spilling the drink on both of us. “Come on, admit it. It’s funny.”
“Not so funny.”
Avery licked her lips and stared at the bartender out of the corner of her eye. “He’s horrified.”
“And yet you look so cheerful about it.”
She shrugged one shoulder and took another sip. “I like to shock.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry—I thought that was a joke. You’re abrasive as hell, but nothing about you could shock me. After all, I’ve seen you running naked through sprinklers.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Oh shit.
Carefully, she set the drink back on the bar and turned around to face me. It was impossible not to react to her lush body, which was pressed against mine. Thank God the bar was dark.
Her arms snaked around my neck and then—with a leg, her right one, I think, propped up on the barstool—she full on straddled me in my seat, her eyebrows rising in a challenge.
I cupped her ass again and waited.
She didn’t move.
The bartender’s mouth dropped open.
“Congratulations, you’ve officially given the old bartender a heart attack.”
“Not good enough,” she whispered.
“Avery,” I ground out her name like a curse. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The heat of her body was searing me alive. Her breasts pressed up against my chest, rubbing once, twice, the friction so erotic, I stumbled over my next breath.
Do. Not. React.
Her hair fell in a curtain over her shoulder, and then she pressed her lips to my neck.
I gripped her skin, digging my fingers into her flesh, fighting against every instinct I had to plunge my tongue into her mouth and slam her body against the bar, rip her dress off, and lay claim to her.
I was acting like a caveman.
An insane caveman.
An insane. Starving. Caveman.
She winked.
Hell.
“Honey!” A shrill voice interrupted the moment right before the part of the kiss when the lips almost touch, should by all means touch, but instead are cock blocked by a psychopath mother who has no appreciation for personal space.
She poked her head between us and tapped my shoulder. “I thought that was you two!”
“Found us,” I said in a lame attempt to buy myself some time, because—fun fact—at some point I was going to have to stand.
Which meant, with my luck, my mom would look down and go, “Oh, honey, shouldn’t you take care of that?”
At which point I would be forced to explain to my mom all the reasons why Avery couldn’t help me take care of it, only to get worked up again while Avery licked her lips and focused her attention on my dick.
Well, since there was no way out . . . I held up my hand. “One minute, Mom.”
Avery’s grin was evil, and my mom was still standing a foot away. As I leaned over to whisper in Avery’s ear, which also meant I could smell her flowery perfume, I bit down on her earlobe. “You’ll pay for that.”
“Oh.” She winced. “Sorry, but your weekly schedule’s booked, and we all know Sunday’s God’s day.” With that, she hopped off my lap, looked down, and quickly turned and hugged my mom. “Why don’t we go to the table while Lucas takes care of a little pesky problem . . .” She turned. “Maybe some ice in your next drink will help, sweetie pie.”
“Thanks, pumpkin face,” I said through clenched teeth. “You’re always so smart.”
She giggled and waved. “Oh my gosh, stud, that’s what I’m here for! To be your brain when all the blood in your head goes south!”
My mom let out a little gasp just as my dad appeared. “Cheapest valet parking in the city.” He frowned. “Patty, you look pale.” His attention quickly turned to Avery as a huge grin spread across his face. He opened his arms wide, and she basically jumped into them.
“I’m starved.” After Avery hugged both of my parents, she patted her stomach. “Aren’t you guys starving? Let’s go.” She maneuvered herself between the two of them and walked away while I downed the rest of my drink and contemplated murdering Avery with a steak knife.
I glanced up. The bartender’s judgmental stare wasn’t welcome, which was why I needed to make it clear she wasn’t my daughter. “She’s my date.”
He nodded.
“Not my daughter.”
“Whatever you say, man.”
“No. Seriously. Besides, she’s a horrible, vengeful, spiteful woman.”
At that moment Avery’s laughter floated over to us.