Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Fear of heights and an aversion to butterflies
LILA
The rubber soles of my shoes scrape against the concrete as my feet stop short. Unintentionally, my lower lip curls into a pout. I bite back a whine, letting it fizzle in the back of my mouth.
“You brought your car?” I ask.
The only reasonable explanation for my disappointment is that the stress of the last several weeks has caused some type of mental episode.
Reed quirks a brow at me. “Yeah,” he drawls, dragging out the word. “I got the impression you’d prefer that over the motorcycle.”
“Thanks. That was thoughtful.” I smile harder, which is totally nonchalant and not at all a cover for my true feelings. “This is way better than the death rocket.”
But is it, though?
He opens the passenger door, flashing his dimple at me. “We could swing by my place to get my bike if you’d prefer.”
“Nah.” I lower myself into the car, holding his gaze. “Don’t be silly. Once was enough.”
“If you say so,” he quips, clearly seeing right through my act.
Fooling an FBI agent isn’t as easy as I’d hoped, which doesn’t bode well for me.
If I’m going to free myself from Silas, I need to earn Reed’s trust and get him talking.
Without something I can use to barter for my freedom soon, then I’ll need to turn myself in and hope I can score a deal to lessen my sentence.
I wonder if Reed would help me with that or if he’d be on Team Throw the Book at Lila.
When he gets behind the wheel, I actively shove away the memory of the last time we were in a car together. I didn’t like manipulating him to swipe the keys, but it was worth it to get my best friend back that night.
Using that thought as my compass, I attempt to ignore how delectable his car smells.
I fail.
It’s like leather polish, mint, and Reed. Yummy. Glad we took his car since mine reeks of rotten vegetables. Tends to happen when a stray sweet potato rolls from the grocery bag and hides under your seat until it dies a slow, painful death in the stifling Florida heat.
Reed reverses out of the parking space, doing the hot guy thing of tossing his arm over the back of my seat. Clearly, he’s playing dirty with moves like that. What’s next? Slutty little glasses?
And hold up. Why did he do that when there’s a perfectly good backup camera right there? This is just like his flirty vase trick. Further proof that Reed Hayes is out to destroy me.
Two can play that game.
Just as soon as I figure out how to be sexy.
I glance down my body and squeeze my upper arms tightly to accentuate my cleavage. No doubt that’s sexy. Guys like cleavage, even on a big gal, right?
Reed seemed to enjoy my chest on the night we spent together. He lapped at my nipples, squeezing my heavy breasts and pressing them together so he could alternate from one to the other. Sheesh. He practically made a meal out of them.
Out of all of me, truthfully.
My pussy clenches involuntarily as I remember how he thrust into me from underneath while cupping my breasts and sucking my nipple deep into his mouth.
Yeah. He’s into my boobs all right.
Might as well use what little tools I have at my disposal.
Wait. Strike that. Not little, but few. My boobs are far from little.
Subtly, I tug my shirt down and arch my back to hoist the girls out. And in addition to pressing my arms together, my thighs get in on the action to give my throbbing clit a frisson of relief.
The date has barely begun, and I’m already aching for him.
A puff of pheromone-charged air invades my nostrils when he straightens his torso, facing the front windshield.
How dare he move and make his scent waft over to me like that? I’m highly offended on behalf of my clit and all other clits that have been in sniffing distance of Reed.
His velvet voice snaps me to attention. “Are you planning to tell my sister about tonight?”
“Tell her what?”
“That you’re going on a real date with me.”
I inhale—as one does to sustain life—and instantly regret it. I can’t escape his mouthwatering scent in the confines of the car. It’s too hot to roll down the window without a plausible reason. Thus, I’ll die from suffocation by the time we arrive at our destination.
Oh well. RIP to me. I had a good run.
“Sooo, are you telling her?” he prods.
I rewind his question in my mind. “Of course. In fact, I already texted her so she doesn’t worry where I am. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
Since I’m moments away from passing out from lack of oxygen, I allow myself a tiny wisp of a breath. I refuse to breathe deeply. My clit can only stand so much blood flow before it explodes. Shallow breaths from here on out.
Unaware of my unfortunate rapid descent into horniness and alarming refusal to breathe, he gives me a side-long glance. “I assume she’ll be ecstatic, especially considering the whole bogus migraine thing the other night.”
With a sigh, I cave and give up the charade. “Was it that obvious?”
“Yes,” he answers flatly. “Which makes me wonder if you were in on it or if it was all her idea.”
“I guess you’ll never know.”
He chuckles, the tone hinting at darkness. “Well, well, well. Lila Kent, how did we get here?”
“Fairly certain you shifted into reverse, backed out of the space, and then put the car in drive.”
He shakes his head. “You know what I mean. How did we go from you swiping my keys to ditch to scheming with my sister to get me alone?”
“Scheming is a stretch. And have you forgotten your role in this? After all, you were waiting for me the other night when I got off from work, begging me to go on a date with you.” I feign condescension. “I felt sorry for you. It was pity.”
He attempts to impersonate a diabolical villain, hunching his shoulders and using a grating tone. “Excellent. My plan came together perfectly. Mwahaha.”
When my laughter fades, curiosity shoots something I don’t want answered out of my mouth. “Same question to you. How did you go from being enraged at me for ditching you to showing up to ask me out on a date a few nights later?”
“I should’ve known you’d turn that around on me. Well played.”
“I’m a rascal,” I tease, bobbing my shoulders in time with my eyebrows.
Honestly, I’m not keen to find out his answer. I already know he’s using me again. This time, however, he’s not using me for hot sex but to get info out of me for his job. But he can’t use me if I use him first. I’m sure that logic checks out as long as I don’t think about it for long.
“I guess you’re not answering, which is fine.” I shrug, then change the topic. “We already did the dinner date. So where are we going this time?”
“I’ll give you a choice.”
“Very chivalrous of you. What are the options?”
“Axes or clubs?”
“Excuse me?” My head juts forward, eyes bulging. “How about neither? I’m too old to go clubbing. And no offense, but I don’t trust you with an ax.”
“You wound me, woman,” he chuffs. “For the record, I didn’t say clubbing.” He pauses, presumably for dramatic effect. “I meant golf clubs.”
“Hmm.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you suggesting golf clubs as a weapon or an instrument of game play?”
His dirty dimple pops with his grin. “You’re safe with me, cookie.”
No. I’m really not.
As the president of the Reed Hayes Hate Club, I refuse to say I’m impressed by his date choice. Even if I might be. He shall receive no accolades from me.
Reed opens his arms wide, palms to the ceiling. “Well? What do you think?”
Based on the smug look on his face, he doesn’t need me to answer, which works perfectly for me.
I repeat: No accolades.
Instead, I pretend to be mildly amused. “This is most definitely not putt-putt.”
He rubs his palms together, flashing his eyes like a diabolical madman. Fitting. “We’re not kids anymore, Lila. We’ve graduated to contests requiring more skill than putt-putt. Beating you at a child’s game won’t give me the satisfaction it once did.”
I visibly cringe, sucking in a hiss of air through my teeth. “I figured out why you’re still single if that’s the satisfaction you’re seeking on dates.”
To mock me like a child would—also fitting—he screws his mouth up to expose his teeth and throws his voice. “I know why you’re single. Blah, blah, blah.”
A snort-laugh escapes me. What can I say? I have terrible taste in dating partners. A grown man acting like a fool is sort of my jam. Especially when he’s normally uptight and gruff.
I flick my wrist, waving my hand in a show of surrender. “Fine. Let’s do this.”
Wearing a far too wide grin, he throws an arm around my shoulder and leads me to the reception counter. I hold my breath to avoid catching a whiff of his sexy scent. Learned that lesson in the car, and my panties have the wet spot to prove it.
He puts his mouth far too close to my ear and says, “I’m paying, so don’t give me any shit about it.”
My feminism longs to object, but I’m still petty about the whole broken heart thing. I shrug and count the seconds until I can take a breath without sucking him into my body via my nostrils.
Once he releases me to pay, I finally inhale and look around the facility. That is, as soon as the spots leave my field of vision due to prolonged oxygen deprivation.
Although he’ll never hear it from me, Reed seems to have picked a cool place. I’m looking forward to this, and it’d be great if that didn’t get back to the rest of the Reed Hayes Hate Club members.
He’s brought me to a place called Grip it and sip it. Rather than chasing a ball around a course like I assumed we’d be doing, we’ll be sending balls careening into an enormous driving range from the comfort of a covered alcove. And it seems booze may be involved.
The cashier smiles at us warmly while giving Reed the receipt. “You’ll be in bay thirty-one. Third floor. Stairs are by the bar.”
Third floor?
Gulp.
My palms start sweating almost instantly.
While slipping the receipt into his billfold, Reed glances at me. I can’t speak with my attention squarely on visions of me careening off the third-floor ledge or vomiting all over the golf tee.