Page 8 of If You Dare

First of all, it wasn’t true. She worked as hard, if not harder, than any of them. She cared about her work, she was driven, and often achieved her goals. Secondly, he had gone from simply thinking she was sexy to respecting the hell out of her. His admiration for her work had suddenly outweighed his admiration for her backside. And that was bad.

He didn’t want to change. He liked his eat-and-run style with women. Liked being the cad who kept things simple. But Lily… Nothing had kept her off his mind. Not other women, not sex with other women… Nothing.

Resistance was futile.

“She’s hardier than she looks,” Clive said in her defense. “You remember her recent breakup with Andy.”

Marcus ground his molars at the mention of Andy Lipnicky, King of the Douchebags. Andy was in sales—hot tubs or patio furniture or some shit. He had a unique jackass quality about him that Marcus loathed. Andy hadn’t deserved someone as smart and funny and attractive as Lily McIntire. Marcus didn’t think he deserved her, either, but he would like the chance to prove himself. He’d burned that bridge by asking her out too soon…and had followed it by severely bending the rules for the contest and taking the win for himself.

Not his brightest move.

“She’s a princess.” Marcus could hear the lack of conviction in his words.

Wednesday night he’d been shocked when she’d come out to celebrate with them. He’d been more shocked that she’d stayed at the Shot Spot even after Joanie and Clive had announced they were leaving. It was the first time Marcus had been around her outside of work or an offsite meeting. It was like she purposefully avoided hanging out where he was after hours.

He knew she had a social life, and used to have a boyfriend with a big nose who drove an ugly hybrid car, but he doubted she frequented rundown pubs with bartenders named Curly. He’d looked forward to her reaction to the Shot Spot, where Marcus was a regular. Surely, she would turn tail and run the moment she laid eyes on the fleet of mismatched chairs or got a whiff of stale beer permeating the air.

So. He’d thought he knew what to expect when she strode in behind Joanie and Clive, looking out of place in her fitted blazer, her heels sticking to the tacky floor. Instead, when she’d spotted him, she’d flipped her strawberry-blond hair over one shoulder and sent him a derisive look down her pert little nose. About then, he’d given her a smile of bald admiration and made it his evening’s mission to get her hammered.

He’d seen her in control, competitive, and icy, but never sloppy. He’d fill his tab with as many frou-frou girlie drinks—purple hooters or buttery nipples—as she could drink, and then kick back and enjoy the show. He’d like to see the rigidity slide out of her spine, maybe hear one of those laughs whenever she let her guard down—which was rare. Then he’d ordered a tequila shot for himself, and she held up two fingers.

“You drink tequila?” He’d been unable to hide his shock.

“No, but we are celebrating, right?” Ah, Lily the competitor, alive and well.

He’d eased her into the shot using old-school salt-and-lime training wheels rather than just chucking the tequila back like he normally did. She’d licked the salt—he’d taken immense pleasure in watching her pink tongue lap the granules from her hand—and then swallowed the liquor like a champ. And when her perfectly glossed lips wrapped around the lime wedge, he’d had a stern talking-to with the parts of him residing south of his belt buckle.

Pain in the ass, he’d reminded himself, tossing back his second shot. But that had only moved his attention to the skirt rounded snugly over her perfect butt each time she bent over to take her turn at the pool table.

He’d sparred with her all evening, figuring arguing would keep the hound in his pants at bay. But each time he jabbed, she’d had a sassy comeback. He couldn’t help but admire her for it. Like he admired her at work. He’d always known she had talent—no one gave a confident presentation like Lily—but he hadn’t known until that night that she was so much damn fun.

Clive’s cell phone rang to the tune of Marvin Gaye. Joanie’s ringtone. Marcus dragged him away from the window and out of sight. Clive shrugged an apology and answered with a hushed hello. Marcus scowled at his best friend and counted to ten before risking peeking into the house again.

Lily must not have heard anything. Her attention was focused on the screen in her lap. And she was drinking—God, was that wine? He should have made more rules. Limited her to only the most basic provisions like water and bread. And maybe peanut butter. Protein was important.

His frown deepened. She’d be harder to scare off while pleasantly buzzed on red wine, her stomach full of gourmet food.

“I’m screwed,” he muttered.

“So am I.” Clive waggled his phone. “Gotta go.”

“Why? Wife gonna ground you if you don’t?” He offered a smug single-guy smile.

Clive shot him a self-assured grin of his own. “Joanie called to tell me she’s drawing a hot bath, lighting candles, and⁠—”

“Fine.” Marcus didn’t want to hear any more.

Clive clapped Marcus’s shoulder. “Let’s go, man. You wouldn’t have won anyway. And hey, maybe she’ll take pity on you and invite you to Hawaii with her. There are two tickets.”

The image of Lily in a white bikini, her pale, freckled skin on display, tiny triangles covering her pink parts while she splashed in the clear blue water, flooded his brain. He’d just lapsed into a daydream about applying sunscreen to every inch of her smooth back when he noticed Clive heading down the hill. His buddy raised his arms as if to ask, Are you coming?

Marcus waved him off, but he was annoyed with himself. Now Lily was crashing his waking dreams in addition to the ones he had while asleep? Great.

Clive trekked back to Marcus, tripping over a branch on his way. He was more Mr. Bean than Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Stealthy, his friend was not.

“Are you nuts?” Clive asked.

“It’s Hawaii.” And he wasn’t handing it over without a fight. Lily hadn’t exactly been competing fair. She’d given him no choice but to run to his coffee-shop cousin and ask him for a favor after he’d lost Sunny Acres to her.