Page 35 of Never Your Girl

ColdAsIce17

Noted. I’ll save my sweet tooth for someone else, then.

FragileLikeABomb

Someone else? Please. You’re already hooked.

ColdAsIce17

Cocky and complicated? A dangerous combination.

FragileLikeABomb

And yet, here you are.

11

Holland

“What the hell was that for?” Bridger wheezes, clutching his abdomen. He might be all hard, chiseled muscle, but I aimed well. One of Mom’s exes was an amateur boxer, and he taught me how to throw a proper punch. It’s come in handy more times than I care to admit.

“For telling our friends that we’re together,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring.

“Did you have a better explanation as to why you were stepping foot inside this house with me?” His voice is still breathless, but there’s that damn smirk again. The one that makes me want to simultaneously punch him and?—

No.

Just punch him.

“If you’d given me a moment, I’m sure I could have pulled something out of my ass!” I huff. “And what the hell was with all the nuzzling and sweet cheeks shit down there?”

“I thought it added authenticity to the story. You know, really sold it.”

With narrowed eyes, I jab a finger toward him. “We don’t have a story. Now everyone’s going to think we’re having sex.”

“Hate to break it to you, muffin, but most people who are dating do that sort of thing.”

“Except we’re not actually dating. And we’re certainly never going to do that again.”

He straightens as challenge sparks in his eyes. Not only is it sharp, it’s dangerous enough to make my stomach flip. “You sure about that?”

I tighten my arms around myself, as if they’re some kind of shield against the way his words crawl under my skin. “Positive.”

His gaze drills into me as the corners of his lips curl in a way that makes my pulse stutter. The tension is only broken when he shrugs, moving toward his dresser. “Suit yourself, sweet cheeks.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Ignoring me, he pulls off his shirt.

My gaze drops before I can stop it, taking in the hard planes of his chest and the subtle dusting of hair that leads down?—

Nope.

I’m definitely not looking there.

My cheeks heat as I whip around and rummage through my duffel bag, racking my brain for a way out of this mess.

Nothing comes to mind.

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