4. Trevor
CHAPTER FOUR
TREVOR
M y shoulder tension eases with each sip of this tart cocktail.
I wasn’t feeling the music festival, so I left early to shower off all the sand and sweat, hoping it would fix my attitude.
It didn’t. The news I got from work yesterday has clawed its way into my mind, putting a damper on the entire weekend.
Finding out your cheating ex is working for your company again lands you two Lemon Drop martinis deep with a third in the wings.
I’m not a big drinker, but this has just enough sweetness to go down easily, taking my mind off the curly haired tornado I have to deal with on Monday.
I’d wandered into the bar tonight as soon as I heard the jazz music, hoping the crooning performance on stage would wash away the bullshit from work.
Finding the quiet brown-eyed goddess was just a bonus—one I quickly snatched up.
When I saw her sitting alone at the bar on her birthday, I had to see what that was about.
“See. These are good, huh?” Willa asks.
“Not too bad. You’ve got pretty good taste.”
“ Okay , Trevor ,” she scoffs, slapping her hand on mine and giving it a squeeze.
She’s had enough to drink that she talks to me uninhibited, her nervous rambling growing cuter by the second.
Willa’s usually feisty as hell, so watching her reservations melt away puts a smile on my face.
Her laugh shoots beams into my sour mood, threatening to light me all the way up inside.
“Oh, shit! I’m holding your hand…” Her eyes flash as she whips her fingers to her chest, covering them up with the others like I’m trying to snatch her hand from her.
“See, I knew you liked me,” I tease with a wink.
“Oh, please. You wouldn’t be able to handle me, even if I did.”
“Sounds like a challenge, Gem.”
With a snort, Willa looks back toward the singer on stage.
I’ve learned enough about her over the years to know there’s more than meets the eye.
I don’t know what all of it is, but I can appreciate it.
She doesn’t like people in her business, and as open as I try to appear, neither do I.
I’m selective. Everyone can think what they want while I move in silence and live my life.
People have their ideas about me, and I let them.
Except for her. The punch to my gut after she made the comment about “my type” still chafes.
Comments … She’s actively trying to pawn me off on several women in this bar, almost like she’s convincing herself she knows me better than I do.
But all these women look the same, and none of them hold a candle to the one in front of me.
She’s focused on them, while I’m drooling over her confidence.
Her drive. Her intelligence. Don’t get me started on her thick thighs.
I like powerful women, and right now, she’s holding a helluva lot of it.
Willa’s yellow dress clings to her deep amber skin—tight at the top, puckering in at her waist, and flowing over the swell of her hips.
She gets better the more layers I peel back, and as amused as I was at the beginning of the night, I really think she has no idea of the effect she has on me. She’s fucking amazing.
Crossing one long leg over the other, she takes another sip and turns to me. “I didn’t take you as a picky one. And why are you being so quiet? You’re always talking.” She tosses her waist-length twists over her shoulder .
When I brushed that same shoulder earlier, her soft skin almost made me forget everything that had pissed me off yesterday .
Almost . If I’m more reserved than usual, it’s the anxious rancor rattling around in my stomach from learning the news about Marla.
I had no idea she was even back in California.
It’s been four years, and I’m pissed that one glimpse of her in that conference room made me see red.
Holding grudges isn’t my thing, except for this one.
I’ve tried to let it go, but the resentment still stands.
That’s the only reason I accept the next drink the bartender slides my way.
I thank him, and he throws me an icy glare, mumbling something that sounds a lot like “piss off” under his breath.
He stomps across the floor in a huff, stopping to wipe up the scattered piles of sugar used to line the rim of our drinks.
Murmuring something else I can’t hear, he shakes his head, but the giggling beauty next to me steals my attention.
“I’m not picky. Or quiet.” I laugh, sliding my gaze back to hers. She smiles, and I admire the curve of her cheekbone as I take another sip of my drink.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to.” I shrug. “I’m just watching you have the time of your life comparing yourself to every other woman in this bar. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“I’m not?—”
“You’re getting off on trying to hook me up, aren’t you?” I tease.
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t make this weird.”
“You started it, sweetheart.” I wink, loving every bit of her flustered banter.
“I’m not your sweet?—”
“So let’s say you do pick a lady for me tonight. You gonna tell me what I should do to her in bed too?”
Her mouth drops open, eyes wide.
Bold? Yes. But it’s been a long-ass day, I’m feeling plucky, and her unfettered rambling is turning me on.
It’s like I’m arguing with a feisty, curvaceous encyclopedia.
Leaning in, I whisper, “You can tell me, Willa. I know how much you like control…” I take a drink, hiding my smirk as confliction mars her disdain.
“I’m not comparing myself to anyone. Why would I do that?” The words tumble out as she tries to explain away the last hour. Her tongue darts to wet her lips, and all of my attention falls to her plump, kissable mouth.
A twitch in my boxers and just enough alcohol leads me to ask, “You want to be my type so bad , don’t you?”
“I—no. Obviously not.” She waves a hand in the air like she’s unbothered, but drops her eyes to the black bar top. Her long, dainty fingers curve around the base of her glass, catapulting my imagination to those painted fingers tightening around me. “We both know I’m not your… I could never be?—”
She gasps when I grab the leg of her stool and pull it closer, too stunned to move away as I lean in.
The sweet coconut scent in her hair seizes my chest as I slide an arm across her back.
Crowding her space gives me a hint of her desire and raw nerves, and it takes all the control I have left to resist slipping a kiss on her bare shoulder.
“You don’t need to compare yourself to them. ”
She shakes her head, keeping her eyes down. “I’m not…”
“Good.” I curve my fingers around her chin—turning her head until she looks at me—and dip my head to hers. “You’re timeless, Willa,” I whisper. “There’s no comparison.”
An audible gulp rolls down her throat before her lips are on mine.
I drop my hand around her waist to bring her closer, savoring the soft tug her teeth perform on my lower lip.
My silly little crush is about to be pulverized into a million seeds of infatuation, all because of her velvety lips.
She palms the back of my head, and we’re all lemon and tongues as my heart beats out of control in my chest. She whimpers when I slide my hand up her thigh, and I’m about to invite her upstairs when she steals words right out of my mouth.
“Take me to your room,” she whispers around my lips.
Nodding, I dig for my wallet, pulling away to slap some bills on the bar.
She grabs her purse, gives me one flirty look over her shoulder, and saunters toward the exit.
Stumbling over the stool with no logic to my name, I hurry to catch up to her, and we meet at the elevator.
Once the door shuts, she closes the distance between us.