Page 2 of Sass

Ouch. But also... fair enough. Still... “Kip,” I corrected, feeling pissy mostly because he was right, but also because the name thing had become a bit of a dance between us since we’d met. For some reason, Leon refused to call me by my nickname. “But if you’re not averse to the idea of sex—” I side-eyed him, grateful for the loud vocals of Oasis filling the smallish lounge. “—then I guess it must be me you’re not interested in.”

He shot me a pretty solid for-fuck’s-sake glare and his gaze swept the room. “Look, Christopher—”

I rolled my eyes.

“—I’m sure you’ll have no trouble filling your bed for a night if that’s all you’re after. You’ve got a slick, well-practiced game, and there’s plenty of hot options here for you to cast your net at. It just won’t be me.” He smiled thinly, raised his beer in salute, and then dismissed me with, “Go knock yourself out.” But yet, there wasn’t an ounce of humour in his eyes. Instead, there was something that smacked too closely of... disapproval?

It took me a stunned moment to respond.

It wasn’t quite slut shaming, not the actual words, but the implication was close enough to shock and then piss me the fuck off. One thing for sure, I wasn’t going anywhere. And when I finally gathered some words to fire back, I used every one of them in quite a long spiel that included phrases such as, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Who in the hell do you think you are?” And, my personal favourite, “What crawled up your arse, you sanctimonious prick?” All quite loudly as it turned out, judging by the curious looks we received, but I’d had too much to drink to give an actual fuck.

When I was done, Leon sighed and leaned close, the crisp heady scent of his beard wax doing strange, unwelcome things to my stomach. “I’m not judging you, Christopher, I’m just not—”

“Kip,” I snapped. “What is so damn difficult about that?”

He stared at me for a long minute, and just for a second, I thought I read apology in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by that familiar cool detachment. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just not interested in being a notch on your bed. On anyone’s, for that matter.” Leon’s gaze lingered on my face and there it was again, that look I’d seen whenever his gaze landed on me. The one that screamed desire and set my heart pumping.

It was at total odds with the words coming out of his mouth, because no matter what he said, Leon wanted me. He’d watched me like a hawk as I’d flirted and danced with other guys. Every time I turned around, he’d been watching. So, what the fuck was the stick up his arse?

I lifted my chin. “Well, do you know what I think?” I ran a finger down that tight black T-shirt. “I think you do want m—”

“Have a good night, Chr... Kip.” He hesitated as if he was going to add something, then snapped his mouth closed and headed for the front door.

Which left me standing with my finger still in the air, reeling in his wake, the focus of a few knowing smirks, and feeling like the trash someone had thrown out the week before.

As I said, self-righteous prick.

And who the hell needed another one of those in their life? Not me. I’d dealt with enough arseholes in my short twenty-six years to last a lifetime. The fact that everyone else seemed to love the guy? Well, there was no accounting for taste. And it didn’t mean I was wrong about him.

To be fair, Leon did try once or twice to raise the issue, maybe even to apologise. Who knew? But I’d shut him down. Maybe because it kept the sexy man at a distance. He took up enough space in my head as it was.

Was I being a drama queen? Possibly. But I ran into Leon pretty much every day, which made forgetting about how he’d made me feel that night damn near impossible, especially since I still lusted over him. It really shouldn’t be that hard to file the man under arsehole and just get on with my life.

So what the fuck was stopping me?

I was still stewing over the question as I shivered in the damp cold of the morning and carried the tray of coffees and a bag of pastries back from the bakery. I was so distracted I almost missed Jenn’s car parked out front of The Tattoo House. There was a plumber’s van alongside, and I wondered what both were doing there at eight fifteen on a Monday morning?

Jenn and I had met a couple of times and instantly clicked, unlike my experience with her brother-in-law. She was a no-nonsense, whip-smart financial powerhouse with a mouth like a dock worker. What was there not to like? I peered through the door of the studio as I passed but saw nothing. Five seconds later I stumbled through the front door of Flare with the tray of coffees teetering in one hand, my keys in the other, and the bag of pastries gripped between my teeth.

“Whoa, there.” Rhys rushed from his office to help. He was dressed far more casually than usual and yet somehow still on point in top to toe black with silver accessories, his sleek black hair falling artfully around his face like he’d just fallen out of bed that way. Spoiler alert—he hadn’t. “Don’t spill them, whatever you do.” He took the crate from my hand and cradled it like a newborn all the way to the service desk.

I took the pastry bag from between my teeth and joined him. “Good to know where your priorities lie.”

He ignored my comment and peered into the bag. “Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver. Beck’s been fussing to get the house gold-plated and ship-shape for Mum, and it’s a nightmare. She’s moving in while we’re away so she can get some painting done in her own place. We’re doing her a damn favour, but the growl Beck gave when I pulled the toaster out this morning was enough to scuttle any idea I had of breakfast. Jack didn’t even bother, just swiped ten dollars from my wallet on his way out the door to school and ignored his uncle. You’d think fucking royalty was coming.”

I merely raised a brow and kept sugaring my triple shot latte.

Rhys caught it and snorted. “Yeah, okay. I know if we don’t leave the place sparkling, the whole house will be rearranged when we get back and we won’t be able to find a thing. I’ve told Jack to text me if things get out of hand. That woman’s a cross between Martha Stewart and a Tasmanian devil with a definite lean toward the devil side.” He paused, staring at me. “And why the hell are you wearing your sunglasses? It’s barely light out there.” He reached over, but I ducked out of the way.

“Oh no you don’t.” Rhys grinned and made a feint to the left, which I fell for, dammit, allowing him to whip the sunglasses right off my face. “Holy fucking smokes.” He tipped my face from side to side. “You look like something the cat threw up.” Then he smirked. “Tequila, right?”

“A shot or two may have passed my lips,” I grumbled, pulling free of his grip and taking a bite of a salted caramel doughnut. “A small error of judgement. Happens to the best of us.”

He laughed and bit a chunk out of a cronut, talking around the mouthful. “You really should stay away from that stuff. It fucks you up every time.”

“Says the man who starts singing ‘It’s Raining Men’ after two glasses of wine,” I mocked, just as a couple of metallic clanks rang out and we both glanced to the wall between The Tattoo House and Flare.

“What the hell was that?” Rhys shot me a puzzled look and I shrugged.

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