Page 53 of Pin-up Girl

“I told myself I was putting this off because of Deacon or because of the way things ended with Regina or because Dee…”

I stared at him, waiting for more. None of those things had to do with tonight specifically. “You were going to be direct with me.”

“I am.” Clint pushed his plate aside, and locked his gaze on me. “I’ve liked you for a long time. Liked-like. There have always been excuses not to tell you, but if Brodie’s trying to win you over, he can’t have you without a fight from me.”

Oh. Oh.

How did I not know that?

Because after thinking for so long that Deacon and I had something, only to find out he had never seen me that way, it was easier for me to shut off every part of my brain that said I think this person is flirting with us. Besides, “I’m not looking for that kind of relationship right now.” Said the woman who got married and then engaged, to two separate people, in a week.

“Does Brodie know that?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Clint grabbed his pizza and took another bite.

Did I shut down the conversation? Was that a mistake? I meant what I said—the last thing I needed to be doing right now was trying to figure out if I wanted a real relationship. With Clint. Or Brodie. Or anyone.

But one thing I wouldn’t mind, I could see myself enjoying it quite a bit in fact, was more sex like last night. “We can still have fun, though,” I said tentatively. “We promised each other we’d have a conversation about what we like.”

That got Clint’s attention, and he was instantly focused on me again. “What else do you like, Aubrey?”

The way he asked, the way he said my name, reminded me of the affection in his voice when he called me his favorite toy. It was a simple question, but it sent a thrill racing through me.

I wanted to play a little, though. “Strawberry ice cream, gummy worms, and a gorgeous poodle skirt.”

Clint quirked his mouth to the side and raised his eyebrows. “Fair enough. Maybe when we’re done here, we should go get strawberry ice cream with gummy worms.”

“Is that a euphemism?” And had I just had my brattiness turned back on me?

“I don’t know. Is it? I guess we can’t find out until we’re done.”

I waved to get the waitress’s attention. “Can we get a to-go box for this?” I pointed at the food, then shoved the rest of my slice into my mouth.”

“One of the things I like about you—you’re not afraid to do things like that.” Clint chuckled.

Things like shove half a piece of pizza in my face at once? I tried to say most women might be insulted by that, but it came out as, “Mmpfh mjjff hhhmffph.”

His smile grew. “You’re not most women.”

How the…?

He ate his food at a more reasonable pace, finishing about the same time our waitress returned to box up the rest of our food to go.

We wandered the few doors down to my shop, and I ran upstairs to put the food away, before joining Clint on the sidewalk again.

I was about to ask what now, when he knotted his fingers in my hair and pulled hard enough to make me gasp.

“You know that wasn’t what I meant, when I asked what you liked.” His voice was low, almost threatening.

And holy hell, I wanted to hear him say more in that tone. “Then you’ll have to be direct,” I teased.

He leaned against the side of his truck, yanking me closer in the process, and dipped his mouth near my ear. “I want to know what kind of fantasies you have. I want to know what turns you on and gets you off. I want to know that if I pull your hair and force you to your knees and tell you what a good girl you are when you’re choking on my cock, that you’re going to like it as much as I do.”

I couldn’t help my groan. “If you’re going to make me beg…”

“Sure, we can add that to the list.” Clint let go of me as if he had no clue he’d made my panties instantly damp. His smirk said otherwise, though.

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