5. Woody
WOODY
The brunette’s pert ass shakes in her denim shorts where she’s bent over, rifling through a pile of stuff at the side of the bed. The angle exposes the soft curve of her ass cheeks.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
She jumps in shock and spins to face me.
“What the fuck are you doing? Creeping up on me like that?”
I lean against the doorframe of Declan’s bungalow and stare at the little thief.
Her hair is flowing around her with a natural wildness as if she’s been raking her fingers through it.
It’s not brunette like I thought. It’s got a thousand strands of caramel running through it, like subtle rays of sunshine filtering through trees.
Pretty hair for a dirty little thief.
“I’m going to ask you again, New York City,” I drawl, noting the way her brow creases as she understands I don’t mean the nickname in a friendly way. “What the fuck are you doing?”
She narrows her eyes. “You have a thing about New York or something? Some girl from there break your heart and you decided to hide out here and massage your bruised ego?”
I grit my teeth, a sharp twinge lancing up into my jaw.
“Because, if I’m not mistaken, that’s a pretty familiar accent I detect there, Cowboy,” she continues. “What happened to your friend, Buzz Lightyear? Did your whole moody act scare him away too?”
A triumphant smirk tilts her glossed lips.
Smart mouth for a little thief too.
“You ever visited a South African cop station?”
My question wipes the smug look off her pretty face, making the blood drain from it.
“I was looking for my phone,” she mumbles.
I walk inside, putting the board wax that I borrowed from Declan on top of a set of drawers.
“New York going to fall apart without you?” I ask.
The look of disdain she gave me yesterday is back in an instant.
“No. But I need to check in with home.”
I press my lips together hard, forcing myself to breathe through my nose as she twitters on.
“People will be wondering if I’m okay. Especially my parents. I haven’t seen them since before… Never mind.”
“Since before you caught your fiancé fucking your bridesmaid?”
“What?” she splutters.
I revel in the shock on her face that I know something private about her.
“It’s in your retreat questionnaire you filled out before coming,” I explain.
She puffs out a breath, crossing her arms. “Thanks, Mel,” she mutters to herself.
“Guy sounds like a shit,” I say.
“Well, don’t worry, it’s not him I want to call.”
“I’m not worried, I don’t care who you call. Call the airline and run back to New York if you want,” I say. “But I do care about you being in my friend’s place without his permission.”
“Don’t be. I’m leaving.”
I step to one side, filling the doorway so she can’t pass.
“What’s your problem?” She blinks at me, enraged. “You’re rude and moody, like a… a… an unsocialized pig.”
“You met a lot of rude pigs to recognize one?”
She huffs.
“How do you socialize a pig? Take it to the grocery store? The movies? Sit it at the head of a fucking dinner party table?”
“You’re really disturbed.”
“You don’t know just how true that is, New York City.”
“So weird, Cowboy.”
The two of us stare at one another, locked in a duel of wits.
Goading her is a mistake.
Talking to her more than is absolutely necessary is a mistake.
But it’s a devilishly addictive one.
Riling up someone as uptight as her has sparks firing in my blood.
I bet her life was sickeningly perfect in New York before her chump of a fiancé screwed her over.
I bet her parents adore her and her little upturned nose that she wrinkles when she doesn’t get her own way.
She probably calls her father Daddy and holidays with them at their summer house in the Hamptons.
Pretty little fucking thief.
Looking at her brings memories of New York to the surface. Somewhere she so casually calls home, because it’s so fucking easy for her to belong there. Perfect job that she seems unable to switch off from. Perfect little family calling for her. Missing her.
And perfect little outlet to unleash some of the feelings that render it hard for me to breathe at night onto.
“You won’t tell Declan about this, will you?”
The way her brow furrows is the first chink in her otherwise brave little act. Trying to instruct me on what I should do? It’s comical she thinks she has any control over this situation.
I run my tongue over my teeth as I consider turning her in. But the truth is Declan’s so laid back he’s practically horizontal. He’d probably find the idea of a pretty woman rifling through his personal stuff a weird turn-on.
The idea of him thinking of her in that manner has the tendons in my neck straining as the need to crack it assaults me.
I’m not going to tell Declan. I’m not a snitch.
But I’d like to see Miss New York City sweat a little.
“That’s for me to decide, don’t you think?”
Her lips part like she’s about to deliver another sassy comeback, but I move aside giving her space to pass before she can speak.
“Now get out,” I grunt.
I breathe in, the scent of coconut sun lotion on warm skin filling my nostrils as she slides in front of me. Hazel eyes dart up to glare at me from beneath dark lashes.
“I take back the pig comment. It was unkind to pigs.”
I look down at her. “See, I don’t regret a thing I said. Maybe you should think before you run that little mouth of yours in future.”
But of course, she can’t leave without a final parting shot. And I think I’d be disappointed if she did.
“Oh, we won’t be doing this again. I don’t make a habit of conversing with jerks.”
She pushes past me, and I can’t stop myself from calling after her.
“You just get cheated on by them on your wedding day, huh?”
It’s a low blow, but a necessary one. I can’t have her near me.
The disgust in her eyes as she looks back hits me across the face harder than if she’d done it with a metal bat.
I wait for her to fight back, knowing she shouldn’t, but a small scrap of me hopes she does.
Her shoulders drop and her breath leaves her all at once.
Then she’s gone.