Page 31 of Some Like It Hott

Kali could have told me how unhappy she was. She could have told me that she was looking at other men, that she was measuring them against me and liking what she saw. She could have told me that she knew it would be easy for her to fall for someone else because she wasn’t getting what she needed from me.

Anytime, she could have said any of that, but she didn’t.

Crack. It takes surprisingly little effort to reduce the toilet from a functional object to useless shards. And it feels shockingly good. Like I’m making something instead of destroying it.

Crack, crack, smash.

I look up to find Natalie watching me from where she stands a few feet away. My eyes meet hers. There’s fire in hers. I can’t look away from it. It’s shocking and beautiful and primal. My body doesn’t know if it’s anger or something else; it only knows that she’s amped up. And it wants to match her.

I want some of that.

Her pupils flare, like she feels the same.

My body tightens, a long line of lust. It would feel so good to unleash all the energy that’s building in my body.

For the first time since she wrapped her hand around my tie, I let her see some of what I’m feeling. The need. The heat.

And she gives it right back. Our eyes stay locked, a circle of rising intensity, and my heart pounds. My breath is tight in my chest.

Horace’s voice wafts into range. “You two all set?” he asks.

I guess he heard the silence and assumed we’d gotten our fill of smashing. And to be fair, he said most people do around five or ten minutes when they’re demoing the room. Our time is probably well up.

I’m not done, though.

I’m definitely, definitely not done.

I want to shout,Leave us alone. But I don’t. Of course I don’t.

Natalie’s gaze falls away from mine. She sets the baseball bat down. Her shoulders slump, like she’s suddenly realized how tightly she’s holding herself.

“Yeah,” she calls back to Horace. “We’re done.”

16

Natalie

What the hellwasthat eye-contact thing? It was…fierce. One minute I was raging at Lloyd, and then I turned to see Preston watching me with this dark hungry look, and my anger turned, on a dime, to something else. Something hot and needy and almost overwhelming.

I want to ask him:Did that happen?Or was it some kind of anger-fueled delusion?

And…Will it happen again?

Because that Preston, the passionate man barely holding his worst impulses in check…

I think I might want to know him better.

Of course I don’t ask because Horace—wearing a T-shirt that saysSmashing Things Is Cheaper Than Therapy—is now helping us out of our safety gear and telling us that there are lots of other things that can be smashed besides tech and toilets.

Instead, I ask Horace if he’d be willing to do a second demo at the Wilder-Hott party on Sunday.

At first, he’s annoyed at the idea of having to demo himself twice, but when we explain the whole situation with the will—minus, once again, how Preston antagonized his sister—he agrees. Apparently he has some beef with Arthur Weggers, the lawyer who’s been enforcing the will on Preston and his brothers, and he’s more than happy to do whatever he can to cockblock him. His words, not mine.

As we leave the rage room, walking back toward the lodge, I half expect Preston to run away the second he has the chance. Instead, he asks, “Who is it?”

“Who is…?”

“When you were smashing the VCR. Who were you thinking about?”

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