Page 89 of Bitter Rival

I collect her backpack from the ground and bulldoze my way through the crowd, keeping her in my sights as she makes a beeline for the parking lot.

This shit has to stop.

I’ve never been ruled by my libido. Have never let my dick call the shots. Have never once tormented myself over a woman.

Until Daisy. The exception to all my rules. The person most likely to throw my orderly world into chaos.

This is what happens when you’re forced to live with someone you’re attracted to. Before you know it, you’ve become so infatuated with them that you can’t even think straight.

A few minutes later, I find her leaning against the side of my BMW in her little booty shorts and a hoodie. Arms crossed. Foot tapping on the gravel. A pissed-off look on her face as if I was the one who pushed her away instead of the other way around.

If anyone should be pissed off, it’s me.

She’s been teasing and taunting and tempting me for weeks.

Who am I kidding? It’s been like that from the start. Even when I hated her, I still wanted her.

And now I want to kiss her again.

I want to spread her out on the hood of my car, push her thighs apart and fuck her with my tongue and fingers and then bury myself balls deep inside her.

Instead, I beep the locks and round the hood. She yanks open the passenger door and dives into the seat, slamming the door shut.

I slide behind the wheel and turn the key in the ignition but don’t back out of my spot right away. When I open my mouth to speak, she cuts me off before I even get a single word out.

“Just save it. Whatever you’re going to say, please don’t,” she says. “It was a perfect day. Let’s just forget the last part, okay? I already have.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

She pushes her seat back and plants her booted feet on the dash—probably just to piss me off—and we drive home in complete silence.

Except that (shocker) Daisy’s silence is loud. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head.

Whatever she’s thinking, I can almost guarantee that she’s got it all wrong.

But since she didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself, I’ll let her stew over it a while longer.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Beckett

As soon as we enter the house, we both head for the kitchen and reach for the same water pitcher. The one Daisy refills daily and garnishes with slices of lemon.

With a sigh, she backs up, grabs two glasses and plunks them down on the island. I fill them to the brim and return the pitcher to the refrigerator.

“I might have overreacted,” she says, clamping her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t know that you would have called that kiss a mistake.”

I guzzle the water and set the glass on the counter. “I wouldn’t have.”

“Really.” Her gaze flits over my face. “And what would you have called it?”

I lean against the refrigerator and cross my arms and ankles, regarding her for a moment. “A big mistake. Fucking huge. Cataclysmic.”

She plucks a lemon slice out of the water and rips the fruit off the rind with her teeth. “Tell me something real. Something honest.”

“Zelda is a quack. Elvis regrets to inform you that he won’t be available to perform your nuptials because he’s currently six feet under where he shall remain for all eternity. And Daisy planted her feet on my dash just to piss me off on the drive home.”

“Tell me something honest and I’ll have your car detailed,” she volleys.