Page 63 of That Kind of Guy

Something crunched under my foot as I turned the corner into the backyard—a beer can. There were a lot of them, strewn around the yard.

“Hey, bud.” A guy in his twenties with shoulder-length blond hair and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt perched on the wall bordering a small patio. A few other guys sat on lawn chairs held together with duct tape. I recognized the Hawaiian shirt guy, he worked for Wyatt at the surf shop in the summers. The ranky smell of weed hung in the air.

Summer workers. They flocked to Queen’s Cove for the waves, babes, and parties. I’d have bet this house was subdivided into at least four rental units, and none of it was done to code.

I tilted my chin at him. “Hey.”

“Nice suit. You here to pick up Lazer?” he asked with a smirk.

I raised an eyebrow. “Lazer?”

He pointed upstairs at Avery’s apartment. “The chick’s a natural at beer pong.” He mimed the throwing motion and made apewnoise. “Like a laser.”

Something possessive and grumpy flared in my chest.

Normally, I’d stop to chat with these guys. Ask them where they’re from, how long they’re in town, how are they liking it here, yada yada. I liked chatting with people. I liked getting to know people.

There was something about this guy I didn’t like, though. I didn’t like that he had a nickname for Adams. I didn’t like how much I didn’t like him. I wasn’t like this. This wasn’t who I was.

“Who are you, her accountant?” one of his friends asked and they dissolved into laughter.

The guy stopped laughing when he realized I was giving him my most intimidating glare. The one I used when clients tried to swindle Rhodes Construction out of paying. Myno fucking waylook.

“I’m her fiancé.” My voice was gritty.

Hawaiian shirt guy’s eyebrows rose. “For real, bro?”

“For real.” I climbed the stairs without another word and opened Avery’s front door.

“Honey, I’m home,” I called as I stepped inside. My pulse picked up as I had climbed the stairs. Maybe I was nervous about prom, which was stupid because it was a dance for teenagers, what did I have to be nervous about?

“I’m almost ready, be out in a second.” Her voice came from another room.

I wandered further into the little apartment and searched for a glass. The first cabinet was filled with instant noodle packages. I shook my head with disappointment. Sad. So sad. The drawer below was stuffed with takeout menus, chopsticks, and soy sauce packages.

Her fridge was even more barren. Mustard, oat milk, and a carton of eggs.

“You eat like a frat boy.”

“Stop snooping!” she called back.

I finally found a glass, poured myself some water, then wandered into the living room and took a seat on the couch. Where was her TV? A laptop lay on the floor beside the couch, plugged in and charging, and a big book on vintage fashion sat on the scratched wooden coffee table. The walls were barren. This place looked like college housing, temporary and bland and expressionless.

“Thanks for waiting.” She breezed past me into the living room, and I caught the scent of her spicy citrus perfume. My head whipped in her direction. She wore a floor-length emerald-green velvet dress with tiny little straps. Her hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders and my fingers twitched with the urge to touch her. She turned and looked at me, sitting on the couch and my gaze dropped to where her neckline plunged.

She gave me an appreciative eyebrow wiggle. “You look good.” She winked.

Lust rattled through me like a freight train, and I clenched my hands at my side. My cock ached with the need to haul her into her bedroom and sink deep into her. I couldn’t tell what she had done with her makeup, but she was gorgeous. Natural and sweet and pretty. A delicate silver chain hung around her neck, and my gaze slid down to the slight cleavage above her neckline. Was she wearing a bra? I couldn’t tell.

I frowned. Where hadthatcome from? Jesus Christ, Rhodes. I cleared my throat and dragged my gaze away from her. Anywhere but her. The wall. The wall was a good place to look.

My gaze was back to her tits. Jesus Christ, Adams was hot. She always wore those blazers over t-shirts, I couldn’t see anything. I bet her tits were incredible. I bet they felt incredible.

Wait, she said something. “What?” I asked her, swallowing and trying to ignore how hard I was.

She gave me a funny look. “I said you look good. That suit looks great on you.”

“Thanks.” My voice sounded hoarse.

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