Page 2 of Revv

Guys like him are always comfortable. Too pretty to be ignored, too loud to be forgotten, and way too used to everyone shifting around them like they come with their own gravity.

A girl near the bikes turns her head as he passes. Then another. One of them does that little hair flip thing women swear they don’t do on purpose.

Puta, please.

We all do it on purpose.

Revel notices her too. I see the flick of his eyes, the little curve of his mouth like he knows exactly what she’s offering.

And then he looks past her.

Right at me.

My drink pauses halfway to my mouth.

Because, okay.

Fuck.

He is, indeed, really hot.

Not in a cute, harmless way either. Because why would life make it easy for me? No, Revel is hot in a stupid, inconvenient, “this is why women make bad choices” kind of way.

But I’m not about to let him know that.

So I take a sip, keep my face neutral, and look back at my phone like his eye contact didn’t just ruin my entire attitude.

The cup is still near my mouth, phone loose in my other hand, one hip pressed against Echo’s car like I’m calm, cool, and not at all affected by the six-foot-three problem walking around this lot with tattoos crawling up his neck and one whole arm blacked out like he lost a fight with the devil and won.

I am calm.

Mostly.

Revel’s eyes stay on me for another second, and then his smile changes to the kind a man gets when he finds something he wants to mess with and has absolutely no plans to behave about it.

Ay, no.

My stomach does this stupid little flip.

Rude.

I lower my drink slowly and give him one flat look, the kind that says don’t even think about it.

He thinks about it.

Obviously.

Then he stops in front of me, close enough I have to tip my chin up, which is already annoying because I don’t like being physically reminded a man is tall.

His gaze drops before he says anything.

Not subtle or even accidental.

He looks me over from my hair to my hoops, down to my shirt, my shorts, my legs, then back up so slowly my skin heats like he touched me with his hands instead of his eyes. His tongue drags across his bottom lip, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he already knows I noticed.

Cocky bastard.

“Well, shit, Mama,” he says, voice low and playful. “Don’t you look good.”