Page 33 of Seven Year Itch
I swallow nervously and glance over my shoulder at him. “What story?”
His brows tweak. “The one where you told me the reason you were at Lexon Club was because of your ex.”
He turns to give me his full attention while the beginning movie credits roll and the serious look in his eyes cause my throat to constrict.
I’d been having flashbacks of my big mouth last night while in the shower earlier, but I was hoping I’d dreamed the part where I mentioned Randal.
“Come on, Ace,” he urges before pausing the movie. “Just spill it.”
“Why do you care so much?” I ask as I wipe away an imaginary crumb on my lip.
“Because it doesn’t seem like your kind of place. It’s not your thing.”
“You have to quit acting like you know me so well, Calder,” I argue because I’m done letting men think they know what I can and can’t do with my own damn life.
My throat tightens as Calder stares back at me in that intense way he has about him, and I feel a flashback to the first night we met.
It was seven or eight years ago, and I was picking up Cozy for a night on the town. She was nannying for Max at the time, taking care of little twelve-year-old Everly, and I knew full well that I could text her and she’d come out from the guest house she was living in for the summer and meet me in my car. But I wanted to see this boss of hers who had my best friend so stressed that she needed a night out. I saw that and a whole lot more.
“What do we have here?” I ask when I walked into Max Fletcher’s house to see a plethora of hot men seated around the table with cards and poker chips.
“You got any money?” Calder Fletcher waggles his brows at me, and my stomach swirls. All of his attention is focused directly on me. This guy has a way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. It’s really annoying.
“I do, but I usually make the man pay for me.” I reply with a coy smile,feeling all my feminism vacate via my loins. “It’s possibly antifeminist of me, but I figure taking a man’s money is also a way to fuck the patriarchy.”
“What’s a patriarchy?” a little voice asks, and my eyes widen in horror as I spot a little blonde girl with braids at the end of the table.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s okay,” Max replies dropping down into his seat. “Everly knows what words aren’t for her.”
“Is patriarchy a bad word, Daddy?”
“Kind of? But it’s not really a curse word, so you can feel free to use it.”
“You want me to deal you in, Blondie?” Calder asks, pulling my focus back to him like we’re the only two people in the room as he adds, “I like to fuck the patriarchy too.”
My chest tightens as I swallow the knot in my throat and shake my head, even though all I want to do is sit on his lap and debate whether sex is a need or a want, and maybe go through some exercises to draw our own conclusion. It’s the beard and ink combo that’s doing me in... which is a bit surprising because he’s not my typical type. I’m usually drawn to dressier hipsters who can pick out a good bottle of red at a restaurant. Calder Fletcher looks like he leaves the toilet seat up.
But tonight isn’t about me. It’s about my best friend, and ogling her boss’s younger brother is not a good idea.
“Not tonight,” I reply, feeling my loins weep at the lost potential of an ideal one-night stand. “Cozy and I are meeting some people in a little bit, and I wouldn’t want to be late.”
The look of disappointment in his eyes is unmistakable, and the confidence that surges through me over that reaction is better than sex... and makes me think perhaps sex is a need. A need that I should be thinking about with the man I’ve been seeing for weeks now, not this bearded new guy.
I better stay far away from this Fletcher brother if I know what’s good for me.
“Enlighten me, Ace. Tell me something I don’t know about you.” Calder stares back at me with a severity that I feel squarelybetween my legs, stoking the fire that little flashback already caused. Couple that with my foggy hangover brain, and the way his eyes keep dropping down to my legs, and I feel like I’m going to upchuck again.
“I’m too hungover for this conversation.”
“Just tell me if he was there,” Calder presses further.
“If who was there?”
“Your ex.”
“Randal?”
