It was Sunday—which was usually my sister’s day.
And my mom, naturally, hadn’t stopped calling about the engagement party to ask why my best friend had decided to bring his drama to such a happy occasion. When she asked how Avery was and why she had to leave, I ignored the question and told her to let us deal with everything on our own—and for once my mom respected my wishes.
I apologized and refused to answer any more phone calls.
But today was about Avery.
At eight, I woke up and made coffee.
At nine, she finally shuffled out of her room, looking the way I felt. Dark circles spread beneath her eyes, and her face was pale.
“That.” Avery pointed at the mug in my hands. Rolling my eyes, I handed the coffee over. Some things never change, no matter how angry you are with a person.
“You’re welcome,” I said in a smooth voice.
She grunted, peering over the rim of the mug with irritation.
“Sorry, I forgot, no talking in the morning.”
Avery nodded and then yawned.
“So, I figured we could go to the market today.”
Still no talking.
“To buy . . . food for tonight.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“And the rest of the week.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“I figured it could be a new thing, fresh groceries for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—”
She held up her hand. “I know the days of the week, Thorn.”
I smirked. “I had a really good plan, you know, a really well thought-out speech.” I sighed. “But, Avery, I can’t take you seriously when you’re wearing a Star Trek T-shirt with bright pink shorts.”
She looked down; her cheeks blushed.
“Is that, uh, my shirt?” I pointed.
“Maybe . . .”
“Hmm . . .”
“What were you saying about the days of the week?”
“Why are you wearing my shirt?”
“I stole it.”
“I was saying the days of the week because I figured I should be really, really clear about my intentions. Why did you steal my shirt?”
She shrugged. “And just what are your intentions, Thorn? The shirt’s comfortable, if you must know, and it smells like jackass.” She grinned behind the mug, and I barked out a laugh.
“My intentions are bad, very bad.” I swayed toward her. “On Mondays I plan on licking my way up and down your body—you know, as an extraspecial hello. And what exactly does jackass smell like?”
“What about Tuesday?” She gulped. “A jackass smells like Lucas Thorn—they’re one and the same . . .”
“Tuesdays are naked days. No clothes allowed. Sorry, champ, but no more stealing my shirts. And thanks for the compliment about my scent.”
Avery set the coffee on the bar and crossed her arms. “What if I don’t want to be naked?”
“I voted, and you already lost. You missed the entire meeting, so you don’t get a damn say.”
She took a cautious step toward me. “Do you have plans for every day then? Is that what this is about?”
“I fixed my schedule.” I locked eyes with her. “Wrote you in on every day, with marker nonetheless—and you know how I hate crossing things out.”
“Because you’re a freak.”
“Yes.”
“Every day, you said?”
I swallowed my nervousness. “Night and day.”
“OH WOW—I get nights too? This is surprising, since nobody is normally allowed in Lucas Thorn’s bed. Gonna move me out of the guest room, are ya?”
“I made an exception,” I whispered. “And that one exception ruined me for all other days—all other women.”
“Good.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
I don’t think I could ever prepare myself for Avery Black’s kiss, which was proven yet again when she launched herself into my arms and molded her mouth to mine, only to break apart and slap me across the face and whisper, “Hurt me again, and I’m slashing the tires to your car.”
“Oookaaay,” I said slowly. “Why do I get the feeling you still want to do that just so you can say you’ve done it?”
She cocked her head to the side and gave me an evil grin. “Just one tire?”
“Hell no! There will be no slitting tires in this relationship.” I fused my mouth with hers. She tasted like coffee. She tasted like she was mine.
She broke off the kiss. “What about Thatch’s tires?”
I thought about it for a minute. “He did just buy a new Audi . . .”
Her grin widened.
“For Austin, of course, not because we have some sick fascination with slitting tires or anything.” I kissed her mouth.
She laughed against my lips. “Right, because that would be weird.”
“Right.”
Our gazes locked. Avery slid her hand up my neck and then snaked it around my head, pulling our mouths together again and again. I tried different angles, hungry for her, needing to prove myself not just with my words but also with my body. “Maybe,” she said between kisses, “we have naked Saturdays, and then we go slit his tires.”
“You read my mind,” I said gruffly. She wiggled against my body, making me lose every ounce of damn patience I’d built up over the course of the night. Every hour I wanted to break down her door. And every hour I told myself that it would be a bad idea—giving her the wrong idea that I only wanted her for her body when I wanted her for everything.
“No more cheating.” She took my lower lip between her lips and bit down.
I hissed out a curse. “No more cheating. Mainly because you terrify me and you did just offer to slit my best friend’s tires, then followed up by biting me, not to mention the scratching of your crazy long nails across my neck.”
“Oops,” she mouthed. “Sorry, I was distracted.”
“By what?”
“This.” She jabbed her finger in the cleft of my chin. “I so wish I could call you butt chin.” With a sigh, she trailed that same finger down my neck and dipped it into the collar of my T-shirt. “But it’s sexy.”
“And this makes you sad?”
“Humans need flaws, remember, Thorn?”
“I think I’m one of the most flawed men you’ll ever encounter . . . I did fall in love with my fiancée’s little sister and contemplate seducing her the night before my wedding.”
She seemed to think about this a minute, then said, “Well, for the record, I was weak enough to probably let you.”
“It would have ruined us.”
Avery nodded.
“Instead, it ruined me.”
Another nod. “Me too.”
Sighing, I leaned forward, our foreheads touching. “I’m so damn sorry, Avery Bug.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I want you to burn your phone. No, scratch that—I want you to toss that phone into a barrel, set it on fire, and chant a curse around it. Something like, ‘If I ever call any of these women again or cheat, let my balls be lit on fire and my penis just fall off.’”
I frowned. “Thought about this, have you?”
“Only a dozen or so times, but I can never get the curse right.”
“Unfortunate.” I choked out a laugh.
“I know.” She actually pouted.