Who’s ready for a sneak peek inside DRIFTER by Kristy Marie! Add it to your TBR today!
Pretty things don’t distract me. In my line of work, a distraction will get you caught. Or in my case, blackmailed. But this isn’t the only time I’ve been hustled, and soon Connor Hayes will learn that men are only pawns in my end game. I don’t love. I hate. Even a pretty boy like him.
Two wrongs don’t make a right. Except when they are five-foot-seven and hotter than my exhaust pipe. So, I blackmailed her. It was either that or turn her in. And if anyone was going to put her in handcuffs, it was going to be me. Bianca Morgan stole the only woman I’ve ever loved. It’s only fair she replace her.
A hip bone brushes mine, and I’m shoved to the side.
“Excuse me. Would you mind moving over?” repeats a voice that should be on the other end of a 900 number.
The sexy smile and quip die on my lips when I meet the eyes of the woman next to me. Dark hair cascades down her back like rolling hills. Against pale skin, eyes the color of sapphires stare back at me in question.
“Are you going to move over, or just stare at me like an asshole?”
“Is that what an asshole does?” I muse. “I was thinking there was more to the definition other than staring and being shoved over.” I catch her eye and grin. “In fact, I think I am the victim here.”
One of her dark brows arch. “Are you insinuating that I’m the asshole?”
I shrug, as if saying, “Maybe.”
Her chest bounces, and her bra is thin—thank heaven for small miracles—creating a complete and utter distraction from what she says next.
“Are you looking at my boobs?” she says with a lightness to her tone which tells me she isn’t about to pull out the mace and empty the can in my direction.
“What? No!” I lie, pulling my gaze up to her face where I’m met with an exasperated look.
“You have something on your shirt,” I argue. I reach across and swat something off her neckline, because seriously, I cannot get maced again. But instead of laughing, she jumps from my touch.
Okay. Not expecting that but people do have boundaries. Even me. Mine are just looser than most. I ignore the sudden change in her demeanor and keep with my rambling. “I wouldn’t be a friend if I let you walk around with cat fur on your shirt. The cluster of mean girls in the back would eat you alive.” I hold my hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I’m just trying to help you out.”
A slow smile replaces her harsh look.
“You’re just being a good friend and saving me from the mean posse of women that await me?” She doesn’t believe my story at all.
I widen my eyes, feigning shock. “What? You think I’m like one of these guys in here? Only here to score some pussy?”
She nods, fighting to keep her grin from splitting wide open.
“That’s exactly what I think, playboy.”
I really ham it up this time, rubbing my chest like my heart aches from her words. “And here I thought society had done away with stereotypes.”
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