Page 8 of Blue Collar Hotties

“I’m sorry,” Riley whispers, her voice so raw. “Please don’t go yet, Cade.” Her fingertips trail up and down my back, feeling the rough texture of my scars through my shirt. Does it bother her?

“I won’t.” I don’t have the strength to leave her now, not even if I wanted to. Riley is magnetic. She’s the sun I orbit around. “We never said you had to help me with the repairs, anyway.”

A loud scoff. “What else am I supposed to do? Sunbathe while you do all the work? Pick up extra shifts at the diner and keep out of your way?”

Riley’s been working in the nearest town, picking up waitressing shifts for extra money. I keep telling her not to—I’ve got plenty to tide us over for the summer—but she won’t listen. Maybe she needs the space.

Every time she puts on that uniform and heads out for a shift, I’m relieved for half a minute. Then I miss her so fucking much, I can’t think straight.

“You could go for more grumpy swims.”

Slender fingers pinch my waist. “Shut up.”

She’s better now, relaxing against me, the stiffness bleeding out of her shoulders. But I don’t let go. Now that I’m touching her, I can’t make myself stop, and this is why I can’t swim with her. Why I don’t sleep inside the cabin. Why I stare up at the stars and ask Luis for forgiveness every night.

I press my face against the crown of her head. Riley smells like sunshine and citrus and mossy water.

“Luis used to race me around the lake.” She sounds so sad. “Even when I was little, he never let me win. The jerk.”

My laugh rumbles against her, and Riley winds her arms tighter around me. Shit. I angle my hips away, praying she doesn’t notice the hard line in my jeans.

“I’d let you win.”

“You won’t swim with me at all.”

“It’s not like that.” I screw my eyes shut, then mutter my confession against her damp hair. “I don’t trust myself with you.”

Her breath catches. Heat floods my body.

And though it takes every ounce of my will power, I step back, clearing my throat. My cheeks are hot, and there’s no hiding the way lust is riding me hard in this moment; the way my body is crying out for more. Riley stares at me, eyes wide like saucers, and I brace for her to run away screaming—

She swallows. Manages a shy smile.

“Good,” she whispers, and for a second, I think I heard her wrong. But then: “Maybe I don’t want you to be trustworthy, Cade Armstrong.”

Fuck. I’m in trouble.

Riley

Okay. How does a girl seduce her older brother’s best friend? Especially when the friend in question refuses to even touch her most days, and sleeps out on the deck every night? When he won’t go for a swim, but he looks at her with those glacial eyes burning up with need?

I’m stumped. And it’s not like I have a whole lot of experience in this area. In fact, my only frame of reference is the smutty fan fiction I got hooked on a few summers ago, and lord knowsthatstuff was definitely not accurate.

I don’t think sex pollen or kissing lessons or a bet will help me here. I mean, we alreadyhaveonly-one-bed, but Cade won’t freaking sleep in it. He’d rather stretch out on the deck every night, fending off the bugs.

Tricky. Very tricky.

“You’re plotting something.” Cade frowns at me from where he’s kneeling in front of the log burner, stoking the fire. “Should I be concerned?” The flames cast a golden glow over his rugged face, and his stubble is thicker than ever. Nearly a full beard.

I give him a sunny smile from my spot on the lumpy sofa, my arms wrapped around my knees. “You survived war zones, Cade. Why would you be scared of little old me?”

“Not scared.” He’s muttering. Irritated and gruff.

God, I just want to lick him all over, scars and all.

It’s night time, the sun long gone, and I’ve found this is the best way to keep Cade in the cabin: asking him to maintain a fire. I could definitely do it myself, but that’s beside the point, isn’t it?

This way, I get to watch his muscles flex as he moves, picking up logs and prodding the stack with the poker. I get to admire his scarred knuckles and calloused palms. What would they feel like on my skin?

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