Page 1 of Hot Shot

1

CARRIE

“Why did you make me come to the bar at the ass crack of dawn on a Saturday morning?”

Marco scowls at me, sitting on a tall stool at the bar at Conquistadors Tequila Bar. The bar he owns, which is closed and empty at this hour. He’s wearing a pair of well-worn jeans that sit low on his hips and a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a cup of coffee sits near his elbow. “It’s a secret. We need to do this when Beck’s not around.”

This is about Beck?

I frown at the mention of Marco’s friend and business partner, who is now engaged to my best friend, Hayden. Hayden and Beck met here at Conquistadors the night Hayden and I came to a tequila-tasting event. That was also the night I met Marco. Unfortunately. The man is so annoying. He’s just so . . . stodgy. Unless he’s talking about tequila. Then he gets a little more fun. Also, he’s rude. He’s always mocking me.

“Secret.” I purse my lips. “Do you plan to enlighten me?”

He pauses, his eyes moving over my face.

What? Do I have something gross hanging out of my nose? I resist the urge to lift a hand and check.

“Of course,” he finally says, gesturing to the stool next to him. “Have a seat.”

“How long is this going to take?”

His jaw tightens.

I climb onto the stool with a huff and set my purse on the bar. “You know, there’s this thing called email. Or a phone, which you can use to text or call. If you wanted to tell me about something, all of those communication methods are quick and private, and I could have gotten another hour of sleep.”

Marco sighs. “Would you stop being such a pain in the ass? We’re trying to do something nice here.”

I grit my teeth. “Pain in the ass? Really? Well, you can justkissmy ass.”

“It would be my pleasure, belleza,as you have a very fine ass.” He gives me a brief wink along with that smile that pops cute dimples into his cheeks. Ugh.

“You’ve never seen my ass. And you never will.”

“I’ve never seen yournakedass,” he corrects. “Ihaveseen you wearing tight jeans, however. And I did see apictureof your ass—in a tiny bikini bottom—and I maintain my claim that it is sweet.”

Oh yeah. That would be one of the ads I did for OC Swimsuits. I repress a growl of frustration. “Oh my God. I can’t believe we’re talking about my ass.”

“You’re the one who invited me to kiss it, Supermodel.”

“I’m not a supermodel,” I mutter.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

I’d kill for caffeine. My teeth grind even more. “Sure. Thanks,” I say grudgingly.

He slides off the stool and strolls around behind the bar, his stride long legged and confident, his shoulders broad, hips narrow. I can’t stop my gaze from dropping tohisass, which is . . . I close my eyes. No. I’m not checking out his ass.

He reaches for a mug under the bar, and the muscles and tendons in his lean forearm flex as he pours from the pot of coffee. He pushes it across the bar toward me. “Cream? Milk? Sugar?”

“A little milk, please.”

He surprises me by opening a fridge and removing a carton, rather than giving me a little plastic container. He does a quick pour. “White enough?”

“Yes.” It’s perfect. I pick up the spoon he lays beside the mug and give it a stir. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He returns to the stool next to me, sitting with one foot on a rung, knee bent, the other foot on the floor in a relaxed, masculine pose. “Now . . . the reason I asked you to come here is to see if you’ll help plan an engagement party for Hayden and Beck.”

I blink at him. “An engagement party?”

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