I opened my mouth to speak but was interrupted by Avery slicing the air with one hand while the other reached for her Chardonnay. She chugged every last drop.
When the waiter walked by, she jerked him by the shirt, nearly causing him to stumble into our table. “Two shots of Knob Creek.”
I opened my mouth again, but she made a little noise, shook her head, and clamped my lips together with her fingertips.
And she stayed that way.
For the next three minutes.
Until her shots arrived.
She downed both of them. Yeah, she was definitely not the teenager I’d left back in Marysville four years ago. After a deep breath, she locked eyes with me. “Please tell me my assumptions are wrong.”
I cleared my throat. “Maybe they are?”
“Tell me you don’t have a woman for every day of the week. Tell me you don’t sleep with them and change them around like you would your socks. Tell me that she didn’t just assume I was . . . FRIDAY!” Her voice rose an octave, grabbing the attention of those at the table next to us.
“You’re wrong.” I grinned.
She let out a rough exhale.
“I sleep with a different girl every day of the week—except Sunday. That’s God’s day, so I hang out with my sister, Erin.” I smiled again for the effect. “When she answers the phone, that is.”
Avery glared at me.
And then slapped the shit out of my right cheek.
“What the hell, Avery?” I held my cheek and swore again. “I think you cracked my back molar.”
She raised her hand once more.
“What? You want the other cheek too?” I turned to avoid another slap in the same spot.
Avery stole my drink and started chugging.
“Okay, no more alcohol for you.” I pried the glass from her fingers while she was still drinking out of it. Amber and black liquid sloshed over our table. “You’re literally a menace to society.”
“Nope, only to you.” She wiped her mouth. “So you have, what, maybe six girlfriends—and you cheat on them all?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t exactly call it cheating if they all know about one another.”
“You’re like the male component of the sister wives scenario, aren’t you?”
“We aren’t married.” I laughed. “God, can you imagine?”
Her look said, No, I can’t. Because I would strangle you in your sleep or smother your face with a pillow until your poor, pathetic body went limp.
“Look, Avery, all you need to know is what girls I’m dating so that you don’t let in a clinger.”
“‘Clinger,’” she repeated, her teeth clenching so hard that her cheeks twitched. “So you don’t want me to let in the crazy ones who still want you?”
“Stop smiling,” I grumbled. “It’s creepy with your teeth clenched. And no, don’t let them in, or I’ll tell the CEO that you can’t even turn on your computer.”
I smugly sat back in my chair and crossed my arms.
She glared at me. “That’s . . . extortion.”
“Call it what you want. I’m your boss, and the girls are part of my schedule. Shannon never had any problem with it.”
“I KNEW it was an S name!” She slammed her fist onto the table.
My eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“Nothing.” She waved me off. “So keep the skanks straight. Kind of sounds like a sick sort of board game.”
“In a way it is.” I licked my lips and leaned forward, ignoring the fact that she was insulting the women. “Keep names straight, locations, likes and dislikes, in and out of bed.”
Her mouth dropped open.
I took that as an opportunity to touch her chin and nudge her mouth closed. Her skin was soft, like velvet.
Just like I’d remembered.
My fingertips lingered longer than necessary.
And my thoughts went into dangerous territory.
Because I was losing my mind. That’s the only reason my finger trailed down the side of her jaw, back and forth, until her eyelids lowered like I was putting her in a trance.
“No!” She jerked back. “I refuse to fall victim to the Lucas Thorn effect.”
“I kind of like the sound of that.” I crossed my arms and grinned.
“I’m sure you do.” She snorted and hopped off the barstool. “Alright then, I’ll need pictures and names to go with them. And know that I’m only doing this so I don’t have to move back in with my parents and eat Mom’s homemade macaroni and cheese.”
We both shuddered. “Some of my darkest days involved that macaroni.”
“One night, I dreamed it was chasing me. I was so afraid.” She shivered and gave me a bleak look. “You’re worse than the macaroni, Thorn.”
I walked her up to the bar to pay for our bill, my hand naturally resting on the small of her back. The blouse she was wearing had ridden up on her stomach, exposing a patch of skin my fingers itched to feel. Every part of her was warm to the touch, and my fingertips dug into her back with a possessiveness I didn’t even know I felt until a guy near us started checking her out.
Memories immediately transported me back to the past.
Driven by alcohol and about one hour of sleep, I made a lame last-ditch effort to talk to her at a local grill. I had to explain why. Even if she didn’t listen, I still needed to confess.
“Avery!” A buff jock-type dude I didn’t recognize wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. His mouth was on hers before I could announce my presence, and then his hands pressed against her hips as her shirt rode up past his fingertips.
Jealousy surged through me.
Even though I had no right.
Not at all.
I fisted both hands and gritted my teeth, just as a girl to my right winked and then crooked her finger.
I walked over to her.
I meant to turn away the minute I realized she was drunk and wanted more than just a polite conversation.
She was kissing me before I knew what was happening.
I didn’t just like it.
I loved it.
The rush.
The feeling of kissing a stranger a few days after breaking off an engagement, a promise of lifetime commitment that never felt quite right.
It was exciting.
Wild.
And the best part?
There was no chance I would hurt anyone—or anyone would hurt me. It was in that moment that I realized I wasn’t the guy who committed—I was the guy . . . who cheated.
Sighing, I pushed the memory away.
My arm moved up and hovered around her shoulders, tugging her body into mine while I used my free hand to reach for my wallet.
“I’m not Friday,” she said under her breath. “No need to mark your territory.”
“I’m just . . . being protective.” I shrugged. “Trust me; I’m well aware that hitting on you could get me shot.”
“And if there was no chance of bodily harm?” She paused, blinking innocently up at me. “What then?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Morbid curiosity?”
“Yes.” I shrugged. “I’d totally fire my Monday—she’s got nothing on you.”
Avery wiped away a fake tear. “Gosh, you’re such a winner.”
“Seven,” I whispered in her ear. “Seven women think so. Most men are lucky to get one. So think about that tonight.” My lips touched her ear. “When you’re alone in your apartment, in your cold bed—I have seven.”