Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(40)
When I spot Lilah across the street, I realize I probably shouldn’t have waved to her earlier. This time, I don’t acknowledge that I see her. I simply drive off. She’ll get the hint, eventually. Hopefully. Poor kid needs a life.
X X X
Green’s waiting outside her apartment building when I arrive. Sorry, Connor’s building. What the f*ck does this guy do for a living anyway? The Grand is one of Redemption’s most expensive places to live.
When she slides into the car, I’m tempted to ask her how long she’s been seeing him. Then I remember, I don’t give a shit.
“You’re late.” She slams the door—not too hard—just enough to send a message. She likes punctuality.
“You’re welcome.” I send her my own message. As in, I’m doing this out of the kindness of my f*cking heart.
She gets comfortable. I divert my eyes from the way her legs rub up against each other and how her breasts rise and fall in a slow, seductive way with each breath she takes.
I’m officially a hormone-induced teenager.
“Like what you see, Stiles?”
“What?”
That’s what you call getting busted for fantasizing about taking off her clothes.
My eyes snap to hers but I’m not embarrassed. She doesn’t seem to be either as she grins over at me. She wants it to come off like she’s screwing with me, I’m sure, but it’s not that fake shit she throws at my brother or the criminals she likes to hang out with. No. This one’s sincere. I can tell it’s different. It’s not forced, and is she blushing?
“Trying to tempt me, Green?”
She tilts her head and stares straight ahead.
“Didn’t know that was even possible, Stiles. I was beginning to think you were a heartless terminator.”
“Ouch.” I grab my chest. “That hurts.”
I stop at the exit that leads out onto the highway and wait for some traffic to go by.
“Sure it does,” she mumbles, annoyed probably, but she’s also smiling.
“You’re in a good mood.” And no, I do not want to know why.
“I’m always in a good mood.”
“Bullshit. Nobody’s always in a good mood.”
She reaches for the stereo, and I grab her hand before she can f*ck with the stations.
“Don’t touch my knobs, Green.”
“I thought you wanted me to touch your knobs.”
There’s a playful kind of tone to her voice. I’m surprised she’s going there, but hell, I’m game.
With my foot on the brake and my hand still on hers, I turn and lean in toward her, close. So close I can smell the perfume she put on since the last time we saw each other. When I look her straight in those kill-me-now eyes, my chest tightens. The way she’s looking at me right now doesn’t exactly make me wanna tell her to f*ck off.
According to my dick, I’m actually having the exact opposite reaction.
“Be careful what you wish for.”
My voice is even. Calm. I’m not threatening her. I’m just letting her know. And when her mouth falls open, ever so slightly, she huffs out the tiniest bit of sexual frustration.
Stiles: one. Green: zero.
Truth is, I wouldn’t mind Green touching my knobs. But a) when I think about those hands, wrapped around my dick, I get distracted. Distractions are not acceptable this evening. B) it’s the after effects of said knob touching I’m not so keen on. ’Cause been there, done that.
It’s always the same. She wants me to call, I don’t. She starts harassing my ass. Next thing you know, I’ve got two stalkers.
Still. Wouldn’t mind it. Just saying.
X X X
The car is dead quiet for a while once we’re on the highway, and I semi-regret not letting her touch my knobs. Could have been fun. I made the right call, though. I don’t get involved with women who are currently involved. Douchebag or not.
The closer we get to Thomas’s turf the more fidgety Green gets. She’s nervous. Obviously. Probably having a bit of a flashback of guns and thugs and death and shit. So I distract her. I’m an excellent distractor.
“You always wear tank tops in the middle of f*cking winter, Green?”
Shoot me. It’s still on my mind. I’m a guy; what do you expect?
“It’s not winter yet, Stiles,” she tells me. “And what’s wrong with this top?” She adjusts and smooths it out.
Jesus.
“Nothing.” I clear my throat and pull off onto a side street. I don’t want anyone to see us coming.
“It’s easier to move around in than a button-down.”
She’s f*cking badass, I gotta say. Dressing down in preparation for a fight. That’s smart thinking. I’m not telling her that, though.
“The boy toy know you’re going into Flint’s territory tonight?”
“The b…” She’s flustered but she reels it in. “Connor doesn’t need to know where I am at all hours of the day.”
“Ha!” I point over at her.
“What?”
“You almost said the b-word.”
“I did not.” She tucks some hair behind her ear.
Ha, again! I point over at her with more vigor than before, triumphant.