Now her gaze is back on me, and her brow rises. She’s silently rubbing my face in what we talked about just last night.
Would you have fucked me? She threw the words at me like weapons, didn’t lower her volume or dance around the subject.
I glare at her until her plush lips tip up in a knowing smirk. She lowers her sunglasses and settles back in her lounger as though dismissing me. “If I didn’t know you were a total stick in the mud, I’d say your new personality trait is impulsiveness.”
I puff up with a bit of defensiveness at that. After years of special forces training, my impulse control is something I pride myself on.
You can’t be impulsive on missions. It’ll get you killed.
Or stranded.
I shove that thought away as quickly as it springs to life. “I am not impulsive,” I mutter and glance at the creek, wondering if I should grab my fishing gear and head out for the afternoon. It’s Saturday after all. Normal people do things like going fishing on Saturdays.
“Could have fooled me.” She glides a palm over the length of her slender arm, as though rubbing more sunscreen in.
“Bailey.” I sigh out her name. In a lot of ways, I appreciate her candor. In a lot of ways, she tests my patience.
“You decide to pick up a short-lived drinking habit at my bar.” She holds her hand up, lifting her fingers as she prepares to list all the ways I am out of control. “You look for fights in said bar.”
“I don’t—”
“You get engaged to a girl you barely know, mostly for shits and giggles. You buy an absurdly expensive ring for her.” She flips that finger up and waves her hand in my direction.
A grin stretches across my face. I don’t regret that ring, not for one fucking minute. “Don’t see you complaining, sugar.”
Bailey shoots me a saucy glare, and, fuck, she looks her age when she does. Ponytail high on her head. Silky, lithe body sprawled on my chaise lounge. Nails painted obnoxiously bright.
“And now you buy a motorcycle? Apparently, I’m the only one you’re terrified of being impulsive with.”
She sounds bratty. The tilt of her head makes me want to fist that thick ponytail, give it a tug, and tell her to watch her fucking tone.
I shove my fists into the pockets of my jeans, it’s far too hot standing around in leather and denim under the scalding sun. Or maybe she’s the one I should blame for feeling like I’m suffocating.
“Felt pretty impulsive when you came that hard on my fingers, Bailey.”
Her sunglasses cover her eyes, but she’s glaring at me. I can tell by the way her lips purse, by the way she crosses her arms under her pert breasts and her shoulders creep up.
“Put some clothes on. I’m taking you to the town fair.”
“No, thank you.”
“Yeah? How’s the job hunt going, Bailey?”
She tips her chin up defiantly. “Great. I dropped off a bunch of resumes this morning.”
“And this week?”
Her jaw ticks. “You know I did.”
“Hear anything back?”
“Fuck you,” she murmurs with a shake of her head, clearly frustrated.
“You can’t keep letting those assholes see that you’re scared of them.”
“I’m not!” she snaps, and I know I’ve hit a sensitive spot.
“You’re better than them, Bailey.”
We have a silent staredown. I know she’ll never respond to my statement. I suspect, deep down, she doesn’t believe the words.
But I do.
“Get dressed. We leave in”—I lift a wrist to check my watch—“two hours. I’ll take you to dinner first.”
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll take you wearing that.” I wave a hand over her orange bikini. “Since I’m so impulsive, I’ll probably break the wrist of every fucker who so much as looks at you.”
Her jaw drops, mouth opening so daintily. The speechless reaction fuels me, so I prop my helmet on the new bike and bound up the stairs to get showered.
But not before I stop at her chair, fist her ponytail, tug her head back to drop a kiss to her forehead, and say, “Let’s go give ‘em something to talk about, sugar tits.”
“Everyone is staring at us.”
“No, they aren’t,” I reply while regarding the check.
“They are.”
I don’t bother glancing up. I know people are gawking. Talking. Whispering. I don’t especially care, but Bailey does. She’s kept her eyes downcast, and she’s spent most of our dinner with her left hand hidden beneath the table.