Page 5 of Sweet Temptation

“It is not a dumpster fire,” she said firmly.

“Elle, my hair literally caught on fire.” I pawed at the back of it again. “I’m making an appearance, and then I’m disappearing.”

“Well… you definitely made an appearance.”

I rolled my eyes. “You just couldn’t hold that one in, huh?”

“You know I couldn’t.” She got to her feet. “Come on. We’ll get you some of those crab cakes. I have to pee, though. I’ll meet you back out there?”

“You eat crab cakes. I’ll just concentrate on not catching on fire.”

She gave me a supportive smile. “That’s the spirit.”

I glanced at the girls in the washroom, who were now at the sinks, chatting. “I’ll send Flynn in here guns a-blazing if you’re not out in five minutes,” I muttered.

“Thanks.”

I headed out of the ladies’ room, shaking out my hair—and hoping Elle hadn’t totally underplayed it because there was a gross burnt hole in the back, and she didn’t want to have to break it to me. I strode back up the hall toward the lounge, mustering some DJ Summer-style sass for the next person I ran into—and ran into Flynn.

Like, right into Flynn.

I smashed into his hard body as he came around the corner… and cold liquid splooshed down my side.

“Is that a martini,” I muttered, “or are you just happy to see me?”

He cringed, his sharp features etched with discomfort as I took a step back.

The last time I was this close to Elle’s bodyguard—at one of my shows, two weeks ago—he’d poured a martini right down my side. That time, it was kinda funny. And flattering. I’d assumed he was so distracted by my overwhelming sexiness that he’d spilled the drink in a delicious metaphor for something else he wanted to spill on me.

I was wrong.

“It’s, uh… two martinis,” he said. “For you and Elle.”

Well, that was thoughtful. I looked down at my wet dress and the now-empty cocktail glasses in his hands.

“Shit, Summer. I’m sorry.”

“It was my fault. And thank you for the drink, but I’m driving.”

“Sure. Can I get you anything else?” He met my eyes—guiltily—and I bit back the urge to roll my eyes.

Really. Did he have to make it so damn awkward?

So I tried to kiss him, and he wasn’t having it.

So what?

The night of that show where he dumped a martini on me, I’d seriously thought I was (finally) ending the night with his boots under my bed.

Not so much.

Instead, he’d accompanied Elle to the afterparty at my place—and then, as usual, refused to partake of the party. It wasn’t like he was forbidden from doing so; I’d run this by Elle, and she had assured me that if I wanted to bang him, even while on duty, he was all mine.

Later that night, when I walked them out to my driveway to say good night, I may have leaned in to kiss him good night. I also may have been a little drunk. And overly optimistic, as it turned out.

And he may have ducked and dodged.

Yup. It was pretty bad. Not as bad as this day was going, but it definitely wasn’t a highlight of my year.

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