Page 2 of Catching Mr. Right

“Have I?” He’s still shirtless. Hard lines of muscle dent his skin and there’s a fine trail of hair that points south, and makes my fingertips sensitive with the need to reach out and touch his tanned flesh. A hodgepodge of tattoos joined together by a dark vine skims the side of his torso, and snakes around his shoulder. What were we talking about again?

His gaze flickers with amusement before turning hard again. “Besides your own, how many kitchens have you worked in?”

“None.” I’m not sure microwaving Ramen noodles and frozen dinners counts as cooking, even in my own kitchen. “But I’m awfully good with my hands. You should take them for a spin.”

“You’d only be in the way.” He shakes his head and moves past me, saying a curt hello to Claire before continuing into the house.

“That was a little rude,” Summer says as I stare after him.

“He’s an acquired taste.” Claire tracks his departure, a frown creasing her brow. “He’s not very social, but he’s Razer’s friend, and easy enough to get along with once you know him.”

“Something tells me I shouldn’t bother trying,” I say. I’m used to being ignored, but not being outright brushed off like that. It stings a little even if it was purely based on my ability to survive a kitchen. I doubt he got the finer meaning of my remark either, and even if he did, he clearly doesn’t have a sense of humor.

“Maybe not the kitchen then?” Claire muses.

“Perhaps not.” I have a feeling working with him would make this the longest summer of my life. “Unless that’s where you need me.”

“Come on,” Summer says. “Let’s go get ready for Mayhem.”

***

Mayhem Avenue is packed when we enter. The quirky music and bookstore is more crowded and noisy than usual. It’s battle of the bands night and there’s half a dozen bands waiting for their turn on the long stage. All the extra people makes it harder to move around, but it’s also a good thing because it means there’ll be people here I don’t know. Guys I haven’t met. And I am dressed for flirting success.

“Come on, the boys snagged us a couple love seats,” Summer yells as we elbow our way through the melee, heading toward Dylan and Gabe.

We’re about halfway to them when I lose sight of her. It’s okay because I’m only a few steps behind her anyway, and I can see Dylan’s head over the people in front of me, so it’s not like I have to search for them. A wide set of shoulders that taper into a narrow waist and tight ass step in front of me and block my path. Not that the guy even notices me until I’m shoved into him.

“Excuse me. So sorry.” I yell, my palms flat against his shoulders while I’m jostled from behind. Is this how Summer feels when she’s sandwiched between her boys, because it’s a little overwhelming to be honest. There’s a lot of hard muscles and sweat. I’m not sure I could handle all that man meat. Even if it is a nice little fantasy.

“Could you be careful? You spilled my drink.” The guy in front of me turns, at the same time the person behind me shifts and finally gives me enough space to back up.

Casper Morgan scowls at me. Does he even know he’s doing it? Does he have any idea how hot that looks on him? And he’s wearing a shirt. A wet shirt, thanks to me. A white, semi translucent shirt that clings to hard abs and chiselled pecs, hard brown nipples, and dark ink that crawls up one side of his body. My mouth is parched, the rest of me is wet. Like his shirt. Or the contents of his now empty drink. The details of his tattoos are hazy through the linen, but I can still recall the star shaped leaves of the vine scrawled over his ribs, and I can’t stop staring. I swallow hard. My mouth isn’t so dry after all. “Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s you.” He sneers, his lip curling while he berates me. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

My jaw drops. “Are you always so rude? I can understand that you don’t want to work with me, but this was an accident, and not even an ‘I burned down your kitchen’ type accident. It’s just a little…” I gesture at his shirt.

“Jack.” His hard expression falls for a second, his eyebrows pulling tight over his eyes. “I shouldn’t have—”

“There you are,” Dylan speaks from behind me, his hand clamping to my shoulder, and I glance up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.” I stare back at Casper. With the lift of one shoulder he turns back to the bar, ignoring us. The guy has no manners. He’s completely rude, a jerk. I grit my teeth. I want to call him out on it.

Dylan squeezes my shoulder, dragging my attention back to him. “Help me with the drinks?”

“Yep.” I nod since the noise escalates as the first band takes the stage. I fling a last look over my shoulder at Casper the Jerk as I follow Dylan through the crowd. What could possibly be wrong with the guy anyway? What happened to turn him into such a rude human being?

Odd. He’s looking our way, and though he doesn’t acknowledge he notices me looking in his direction, his expression isn’t hard. It’s weary. His whole face seems to drop, and his eyes… No, he’s mean. Firsthand experience tells me that he’s an awful grouch. I turn my back on him and continue after Dylan.

***

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Summer says, stirring her cappuccino like she’s pulled a Claire and dumped a truckload of sugar in it that needs to be dissolved.

“What’s that?” I sip at my latte, then set it down in favor of the sparkly rainbow cupcake I decided to have for breakfast. Sugar is great for a hangover apparently, not that I would know. That’s the beauty of being as much of a lightweight as I am. It takes nothing to get drunk and even less to recuperate.

Although I can’t say it’s that easy to recover from my run in with Casper Morgan. He might be drop dead gorgeous, but his personality is awful. I’ve never met anyone I disliked more. Or been as curious about. I really want to ask him why he’s so ill-mannered. Actually, I don’t. He’s not the least bit interesting.

“First you need to promise you’re not going to get too excited.” Summer smiles to herself. “I mean it really isn’t a big deal.”

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