Page 29 of Win Big

“Jesus. I have a social life. I like to have fun.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Better than sitting in an office in front of a computer all day and night. And then going on a date with an old man who probably can’t get it up.”

Yeah. That went too far.

She rolls her eyes. “Please. Older men are better in a lot of ways, including sexual experience.”

I grit my teeth, thinking about her in bed with Dan Diaz, and force a smile. “You already alluded to my sexual experience. You have no idea what I’m like in bed.”

“And I never will.”

“Oooh. Burn.” I make a joke, but that comment actually does sting. I lean forward at the table. “I bet I can make you come faster than any old dude.”

She picks up her coffee mug and leans back in her chair. “Yeah? Why don’t you have a girlfriend, then? If you’re sleeping with all those women, why don’t they want to keep you around?”

“Princess, it’s not them, believe me.” I’m not bragging; it’s true. Lots of women are disappointed when I don’t want to see them again, but I make it clear I’m not looking for a wife or girlfriend. Like I said, life is short. I’m all about enjoying it while I can. “I like variety.”

“Sure.”

“You don’t believe me?” My eyebrows fly up.

She meets my eyes, and the air in the kitchen goes electric. My skin tingles everywhere and heat pools in my groin.

“I think you have a high opinion of yourself.”

“It’s deserved.” I sound like a jerk. Whatever.

The air crackles around us and heat weighs down on me. All I can think of is proving her wrong—carrying her back upstairs to that pretty, pristine bedroom and messing it up. Messingherup. Pretty, perfect Everly.

Her lips part, and her fingers tighten on the mug. Her eyes are bright, pupils dilated.

She wants it too.

7

EVERLY

It’s true.

I like older men. For the reasons I just said. I like maturity. I like someone like me, who’s responsible and accomplished and... Christ, I’m a big phony.

I act responsible and accomplished. I act mature and strong and organized. I try to be perfect.

Inside I’m a mess. A complete and utter disaster.

The last person I want to know that is Wyatt.

And he’s the last person I’d ever want to be involved with. He’s messy. He’s all laughter and fun and flirty and unreliable. He wasn’t even going to come to the banquet! Life’s just a game for him, and he plays a game for a living, so that says a lot about him.

And yet... dammit, I’m drawn to him so powerfully it’s hard to resist. He makes me smile. He pisses me off... but eventhatmakes me smile. He’s just so... so...Wyatt.

He has an aura; a golden, glowing aura. He effortlessly attracts people. I’m no exception.

Right now, my thighs are squeezed tightly together against the persistent ache low inside me, and my nipples are hard little points.

My fingers tighten around my nearly empty coffee mug. “Cocky,” I murmur, then gulp down the rest of my brew. “I need more coffee. Want some?” I stand abruptly.

---