Page 58 of Right Number, Wrong Man
Fire fans across my face. What’s with his protective tone? He probably just wants to put his dad’s worries at ease.
“Speaking of which,” Colt continues, calmer now. “I promised Hailey that I’ll teach her how to shoot.”
I nearly choke on my drink. Fuuuuuuck, he hasn’t forgotten about that!
“Great idea.” Earl gives a satisfied nod, sipping his bourbon.
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, because that would be rude in front of Earl. Still, I’m not too keen on spending a day at the range with loaded guns and a sniper who hates me. He probably knows how to dispose of a body, too.
Black ops soldiers know that sort of stuff, right? Torture. Murder.
And he does hate me, right? The DVD doesn’t make the prank and years of animosity go away.
“Before I forget, son, could you search the shed for the leftover paint we used for the fence?” Earl asks. “I already looked for it, but I couldn’t find shit in there and with my bad back, liftin’ all those boxes ain’t a picnic.”
Colt hums, already getting up. “I could grab it now before?—”
Sara Jean comes in from the kitchen and puts a big bowl of potato salad in the center of the table. “Wait until after dinner.”
Colt sits back down. “Yes, ma’am.”
21
HAILEY
I blow out a heavy breath,fanning myself with my hand. The sun has set, but the sweltering summer heat is still trapped in the metal shack behind Sara Jean’s vegetable patch. Though it feels suspiciously like the fire blazing across my face comes from inside me.
Oh no, no, no.
I’mnotblushing.
It must be the bourbon I had in my sweet tea. Those hot flashes definitely aren’t caused by Colt pretending to pose for the cover of GQ while he’s carrying boxes through the shed.
His dark blond hair falls in messy strands into his eyes.Sexymessy. His jawline looks sharp enough to cut glass, courtesy of an exposed light bulb throwing harsh shadows. And speaking of exposed, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
Everybody knows that’s the sluttiest thing a man can do.
As he stacks boxes of old Christmas decorations, the muscles in his forearms strain underneath hislightly tanned skin. When he turns his back, my fingers itch to trace those broad shoulders pulling his button-down shirt taut.
Heisarresting. Only an idiot wouldn’t see that. Apparently,Iwas one of those idiots because until Andrea mentioned it, I never noticed that Colt could be a supermodel. But tonight, he doesn’t just look good. He looksdifferent. It could be because I’ve never seen him smile as much as he did in the car or because he’s never been this nice to me.
Damn the alcohol for making my thoughts all crazy.
I shouldn’t have gone to the shed with Colt, but I have Sara Jean to blame for that. She practically shoved me out the garden door after him. She must think that we could use a team building exercise, but my part of the effort consists of ogling Colt with entirely new eyes.
Eyes that realize what a gorgeous ass he has under those beautifully worn-in Wranglers.
Fine, heishandsome, but in the same way you’d admire a sculpture in a museum. Look, don’t touch. Keep your distance. His pretty face and chiseled body hide a rotten personality wrapped in layer after layer of red flags.
He’s like anonionof red flags. Peeling back the layers would only end in tears and curses.
Colt said it himself: tonight’s truce is temporary. All that niceness won’t fool me, and I already have a handsome man in my life:
Jax.
Colt can’t hold a candle to him.
Even though I’ve only seen the lower half of Jax, his kinky side gives him an edge, and I have a sneaking suspicion he’s hot anyway. He can cloak himself in shadows, but there’s always his pierced, big cock. And he can’t hidethose large, veiny hands, his strong forearms or those drool-worthy abs.
