Page 55 of The Potter

I grin. “First, I think you’re exaggerating the definition of a house. Second, what is a twatinator?” If I wasn’t so frustrated with her, I think I would have laughed at her folded arms and serious expression. “Is that like a southern term I’m not familiar with?”

She cocks her hip, and the pink patterned dress she has on pulls snug against her thighs, drawing my attention lower. “No, it isn’t a southern term. It’s just a term I made up so I don’t call her what she really is.”

I step in closer and whisper, “And what would that be?” Wanting her to say something inappropriate makes my dick hard. I haven’t wanted a woman this bad in a very long time.

Noticing the change in my demeanor, she glances up and down my body, swallowing harshly.

“Tell me,” I coax. “Tell me what you really think of Serena.”

I’m thinking I’ll need to linger at my house a little longer, possibly take a shower so I can think on this plane ride in Ms. Belle’s flowered-smelling presence.

“I…” She swallows again, looking around.

“Serena left early today.” She, too, was getting on my nerves.

“Oh. She wasn’t sick, was she?”

“You’re stalling.” I push in closer, watching as her concern turns into aggravation.

“And you’re now the one being inappropriate.”

I take the last of the space between us. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

With my body within an inch of hers, she has to look up to flash me a glare. “I think Serena is a grade A cunt.”

My dick jumps at the foul words coming out of such a sweet mouth.

“Are you happy now? Can we go?”

Look who’s uncomfortable now. “Lead the way.”

The motel is still as shitty as it was when I left this morning from picking her up.

“I’ll be just a minute. I need to ask my neighbor if he’ll feed Oscar for me.”

The neighbor.

He’s just a kid, Vance. Just. A. Fucking. Kid.

“I’ll go with you.”

Her head drops to her shoulders as if she’s exhausted already. “No, stay here. I’m just going next door.”

And I’ll just be going next door, too. This isn’t the kind of motel that you just let sweet, naive women wander around. “Fine,” I lie. “I’ll wait on you.”

Exhaling, she smiles. “Thank you.”

See? Completely gullible and easy prey.

I wait, watching her pack up the fish, like it can’t be without a human for longer than eight hours, and walk it next door. She doesn’t even notice me coming after her.

Leaning against the wall outside the kid’s door, I listen as she rambles on and on about what size a pinch of food is. Apparently, the fish is an overeater, and she has him on a diet. It’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard this year.

“Thank you, dude. Seriously, I owe you. When I get back in town, we’ll grab lunch, yeah?”

The hell she will.

Ms. Belle will have lunch meetings until she earns that stupid thousand dollars she has left. This “kid” might be young, be he’s not too young to notice her soft curves and fine edges. You don’t end up in a pay-by-the-hour motel for no reason.

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