Page 19 of Strictly the Worst

Since she had sex? Fuck, that’s a long time. And now another part of me is interested. Because the idea of being the first man to touch Carmichael in two years makes me feel like a caveman.

I want to unfreeze the ice queen.

“You know he’s hot. You just looked him up,” Tessa says. And a grin slowly forms on my lips. “If you like that kind of thing,” she adds, the grin kind of freezes.

There’s a pause. “I’m not going to have sex with Lincoln Salinger,” she says firmly.

My mouth drops open. Dear fucking God, is this what women talk about on the phone? I guess that’s my cue to leave. Not just because I shouldn’t have been listening in the first place, but because there’s a weird taste in my mouth that I can’t quite get rid of. I pull my sandals off and tiptoe around the cottage to the stairs, taking them quickly and hurrying down the beach in case she decides to look out of the window.

I’m not going to have sex with Lincoln Salinger.

Huh. Nobody asked her anyway.

And if she wanted to?

I let out a low breath. Because if she did, I’d probably say yes.

I’m an asshole. But I’m also human. And Tessa Carmichael is a beautiful woman. She’s also a challenge I’m not sure I can win.

And I always like to win.

TESSA

Linc walks back into the cottage right as I’m walking out of the bedroom. After calling Angela and then talking to Zoe who seems as happy as she can be at her dad’s house, I showered quickly, not bothering to wash my hair because I did it this morning and there’s not enough time to dry it right now. Instead, I’ve put it up into a kind of topknot, with some strands falling out around my face.

I’m wearing one of the new dresses I bought during an emergency shopping trip with Angela last weekend. It’s white and strappy, the bodice tight and the skirt floaty. It makes me feel good.

Linc has the weirdest expression on his face as he looks at me. I have to double check my dress to make sure the hem isn’t tucked into my panties, but it’s flowing perfectly down to just above my knees.

And he’s still staring at me.

“The bathroom’s a little steamy,” I tell him. “I’ve had the fan on but it doesn’t seem to be doing much.”

He nods and it strikes me that I’ve never seen Linc Salinger so quiet before. He has words for everything. It’s unnerving.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, actually starting to get worried. “Did something happen while you were out walking?”

“What do you mean?” His voice sounds strained.

“You just seem…” I trail off because I don’t know the right word. “Off?”

“I’m not being off,” he says quickly.

“Okay then.” I shrug. Backing off.

“I’m just wondering if I’ll actually be able to make my way to the shower,” he mutters. “It looks like the sixth ring of hell in there.”

Okay, so the bathroom is kind of full of my stuff. I brought three toiletry bags – one for my hair, one for the shower, and one for my makeup – but there aren’t enough surfaces in the tiny room and they’ve kind of spread out. “You want me to move my things out?” I ask him.

“It’s fine. I’ll just put my bottle of shampoo somewhere,” he tells me.

“I’m certain you didn’t just bring a bottle of shampoo.” I narrow my eyes at him, because he’s the kind of man who brings just as many bottles and sprays as I have. “I bet you have three bags, too.”

His eyes catch mine. “Two.”

“There you go. And you don’t need to wear makeup so that’s pretty much the same as me.”

“You don’t need to wear makeup either,” he says gruffly, then passes me as he walks into the bathroom and pushes the door shut. I blink. Did he really just say that? It sounded weirdly like a compliment, but I have no idea what to do with that thought.

---