Saxon(2)

“My car is female!” he argues.

We stare at each other and then burst out laughing.

“What about your car?” he asks.

“My car is fine. I just want to drive yours,” I pout.

“Fine, you can drive her while I’m on tour, but if anything happens to her…”

“It won’t!”

And if it did I’ll just blame it on Lexi. He wouldn’t get mad at her for anything.

“Why can’t I ever say no to you girls?” he grumbles, cutting another slice of cake.

“Because you love us.”

“Some more so than others,” he replies, his lip twitching.

“I know I’m your favourite, it’s okay,” I say, then whisper, “I won’t tell anyone.”

His shoulders shake as he laughs.

“How’s your mum?” he asks when his laughter subsides.

Her usual over-bearing self. “She’s fine.”

“She was saying you don’t drop by her house much?”

I sigh heavily. “We don’t get along well, you know that.”

“She’s still your mother,” he points out. Like I don’t know that.

“Well, if this is turning into lecture time, I’m out of here. I’ll be back before you leave to pick up the beast,” I say, kissing him on the cheek.

“The car is female!” he complains.

I say bye and walk out of his house. Humming a song, I’m almost to my car when I see a familiar face.

Saxon Tate.

My heart races at the sight of him.

My best friend Lexi’s ex-boyfriend, and one of the best looking men I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing in person. He is dreamy. He exudes sex appeal.

Oh, the things I’d do to him if I had the chance…

Unfortunately he is also not one of my favourite people, seeing as he cheated on my best friend and once broke her heart.

Sure, it all ended well.

Lexi is now happy with Ryder and has forgiven Saxon, but what’s the saying?

Once a cheater always a cheater.

I’d be stupid to even consider going there.

I’d also never sleep with the ex of a friend. It’s a little weird, not to mention Lexi is like a sister to me.

So many reasons not to go there, yet…

I’ve noticed how Saxon looks at me. I’m not a na?ve girl—I know when a man is interested in me. It’s not an ego thing, it’s just a feeling. I can tell by the way he always watches me or tries to make conversation.

Like right now, for instance.

Saxon has also let me know he’s interested.

He has even asked me out in the past.

And I say no each and every time.

Not because I don’t want to, but because I do.

I, Tenielle Crawford, the most stubborn and proud woman on the face of the earth, have a secret.

A weakness.

And he’s standing right in front of me.

His eyes devour every inch of me, and I let them.

I even like it.

Damn him!

“Saxon Tate,” I say in greeting, trying to keep my voice even. I stare into his soft brown eyes, then take in the rest of his facial features. Sharp cheekbones, full soft lips, and a jaw full of stubble. I zone in on his pierced eyebrow then back to his eyes.

Such long, thick lashes.

I clear my throat.

Show no weakness.

I try to see myself as he would see me. Black hair, caramel-coloured skin from my mixed Sri Lankan and Australian heritage, a tight white top showing a lot of bare stomach, baggy ripped boyfriend jeans and black combat boots. My usual attire when I’m not at work.

“Tenielle Crawford,” he replies, checking me out. “How have you been?”

For the first time ever, his brown hair isn’t spiked up. Instead, it frames his face, curling around his ears. “Did you run out of hair gel?”

He laughs, his warm brown eyes twinkling. “As a matter of fact I did.”

I tilt my head to the side. “I like it.”

He grins back at me. “You took out your piercings,” he says, pointing to my eyebrow. I did in fact, take out all my facial piercings except for my nose ring. He has his eyebrow pierced—the one without the scar. It looks good on him.

“Yeah, I had to get a real job,” I reply, pouting. I don’t exactly look how a lawyer is expected to look, so I tried to tone it down a little when applying for a job.

“Law firm, right?” he asks, seeming genuinely interested.

“Yep,” I reply, smiling. “Criminal law.”

He nods. “Your cousins are all so proud of you. I am too.”

I smirk. “Thanks, I actually enjoy it.”

He drums his fingers on his jean-clad thigh. “Good.”

We stare at each other.

“Listen,” he says a little hesitantly. “I was wondering if I could take you out sometime.”

He stares down at me, patiently waiting for my response.

“Ummm…” I try to think of an excuse. The only one I can come up with is that I have to wash my hair—which let’s face it, is kind of lame.

“Look, I know you don’t like me much,” he says, grimacing. “But a lot of time has passed and I’m done waiting.”