Page 8 of I Hate Myself for Loving You
Indeed. Throw a little weak and spineless into the pot, and she had a bubbling sauce of sissi-fied Avery. Normally, she wouldn’t shame her libido, but she had a firm rule for her sex life. Anyone she slept with had to at least be likeable.
Lassiter was anything but likeable.
He had something, whatever that something was, that made her forget everything but her hormones. She had no other explanation. It was the only one she could come up with.
Especially after California.
Their encounter had happened quite unexpectedly and probably not the way most one-night stands do. One moment they were spewing fire and brimstone, the next, kissing the living daylights out of each other, preparing to throw down.
And they’d thrown down.
In fact, it was the best throw down she’d ever had.
It all happened so quickly, after months of their ongoing battle, that when it was over, neither of them knew what to say.
So Avery didn’t say anything. She left without so much as a glance over her shoulder, slinking back off to the east coast and spending every waking moment trying to forget what happened.
And now, she’d done it again. Well, almost.
Shitpissfuck.
What she couldn’t understand was how Lassiter had become so hard-hearted.
There’d been a time when he’d been on the same side as she.
As usual, seeing Lassiter sent Avery’s pulse soaring and her eyeballs floating off into the back of her head like someone possessed. Seeing him with Hector made her want to throw things. He was always so kind to him, gentle, irritating the life out of her.
A good night’s sleep and some perspective about her personal relationships versus work surely would leave her feeling stronger. Her convictions were the same, no matter who she allowed access to her body.
Lassiter Adams had to go and he had to go without the personal joy it would bring him if she pitched another hissy fit. She’d resolved to remain as calm as possible and keep her name calling to herself.
* * * * *
That is, until the next day when she saw Lassiter with Hector, chatting like they were old fucking college roommates, reliving the good old days.
And hold on. Was that what she thought she saw?
Was Lassiter really petting Hector’s bunny?
Ohhh, that was a cheap play for Hector’s emotions. There was no better way to his heart than to give him the opportunity to talk about his bunnies. Hector loved his bunnies. In fact, he loved them so much he’d once tried to steal money from his wealthy cousin Julia to save them.
Yet, there was big, tall, albeit a bit pale, muscled Lassiter, talking and laughing with Hector, not just holding, but petting his bunny. His lean, long tapered fingers stroked the fur with the ease of an animal lover.
But Lassiter wasn’t an animal lover, or at least he wasn’t anymore.
He was a defiler of them, ripping their homes to shreds, usurping their lives.
In general, messing shit up on a daily basis so he could build condos with hot tubs, vaulted ceilings and shiny appliances you could see your reflection in.
Avery strode on lean legs to the clearing in front of Lassiter’s trailer and stopped in front of the two men, waiting for them to acknowledge her.
Lassiter’s head bobbed up, his sunglasses hiding whatever was behind them.
“Morning, Avery,” was his casual “oh, it’s you” greeting.
Ignoring Lassiter and his scent on the cold morning breeze, one that made Avery’s knees weak, she gave Hector a pointed look. “What’s up this morning, Hector?”
Hector’s grin was wide. “Lassiter said he’d help me rebuild the bunny house. I was having a lot of trouble with Pinky here.” He pointed to the large, white bunny Lassiter held to his chest. “He kept getting out because the lock won’t stay shut and Lassiter helped me find him.”
