Bad Girl Reputation (Avalon Bay #2)(67)

“It’s fine,” I say, grabbing Evan’s free wrist. If I was worried about becoming a fugitive before, I’m downright concerned now. “Walk me to my car?”

“Go on, boy.” Randall moves his right hand to rest on his gun. The strap on the holster is unbuttoned. “Give me a reason.”

Evan flashes a wild smile I’ve seen a hundred times. Right before he took a running leap off a cliff or unloaded a paintball gun at a police cruiser. It’s a smile loaded with the serenity of madness saying, watch this.

“Yeah, you see …” Evan admires the ax, turning it in hand. “As a respected business owner and upstanding member of my community, I’d never run afoul of a lawman.” He flicks his thumbnail across the blade.

It’s then I realize this conversation has attracted an audience. A smaller contingent than the aborted party. In fact, with Cooper, Wyatt, Tate, and Billy, the remnants are made up almost exclusively of certified members from the Fuck Around and Find Out Society.

“But you come at me and mine sideways,” Evan says, not a hint of humor in his grave tone. “You better come to dance.”

For second or two, Randall appears to contemplate the offer. Then, sizing up the opposition, he thinks better of it. He barks a final order into the bullhorn. “Three minutes are up. Clear out.”

He doesn’t wait for compliance before trudging back through the sand and tall grass to the road and his waiting cruiser. I don’t release my breath until I watch the taillights blink red and then disappear.

Following Evan up to the house, I’m still a bit winded by the whole ordeal. Somehow, he’s still got the ax, which he tosses on the dresser when we enter his bedroom upstairs. I haven’t been in here in a year, and it feels oddly like stepping into a museum of my own life. Memories on every wall.

“What’s that look?” he says, pulling off his shirt and tossing it in the hamper. My throat goes dry as my attention is drawn to the lines of his chest, the defined muscles of his abs.

“It still smells the same.”

“Hey, I did laundry yesterday.”

I roll my eyes, taking a trip around the room. “Not like that. I mean it smells familiar.”

“You okay?”

“For a minute there …” I’m distracted as I wander the bedroom. He’s never been the sentimental type. There are no photographs tacked to the wall. No old concert tickets or souvenirs. Wasn’t much into sports either, so none of those little gold men. “I thought you might find a use for that ax. You impressed me back there.”

My gaze conducts a final sweep. His room is just a utilitarian composite of some basic furniture, TV, game system, and the contents of his pockets on any given day tossed on the nightstand. Except for one frill on top of his dresser: a decorative glass dish, like something an old lady would put potpourri in, filled with years’ worth of Blow Pops.

This jerk is so damn sweet sometimes.

“Which part impressed you?” he asks.

I turn to find him leaning against his bedroom door. Legs crossed, hands shoved in his pockets. Jeans riding low on his hips. Everything about him demands to be consumed. And I’m locked in here with him.

“I admired your restraint.” I don’t know what to do with my hands now, so I rest them on the edge of his desk, hop up, and sit on them.

“I couldn’t remember if we were still playing the opposite game. But I’ll go hunt his ass down if we’re not.”

“No, you did good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How good?”

“Are you leaning against that door because you’re afraid I’ll leave?”

“Do you want to?”

When Evan looks at me from beneath those thick, dark lashes, all full of memories and hunger, I forget what I’m doing. All the rules and hesitations fly out the window.

“No,” I admit.

He pushes off the door and stalks toward me, planting his hands on the desk on either side of me. Reflexively, I open my legs for him to stand between them. I fixate on his mouth. On the warmth radiating from his body and the way my limbs grow restless. When I think he’s going to kiss me, he turns his face to brush his lips against my temple instead.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, more a groan than words.

“I’m right here.”

My pulse throbs in my neck, in my palms, the phantom echo of my thumping heart resonating across every nerve ending. I’m all but choking on the anticipation of something to happen and uncertain what it should be. Because I made myself a promise. Right now, though, I can’t for the life of me think of a good reason to keep it.

With the lightest touch, Evan’s hands slide up the outside of each leg, over my knees, thighs. “I’ve got it bad, Fred.” His voice comes out hoarse. “The way I see it, you better send me to a cold shower before this thing gets serious.”

I bite my lip to smother a smile. “Serious, huh?”

He grabs my hand and places it on his chest. “As a heart attack.”

His skin under my palm is hot to the touch. In the quiet part of my mind, I know he’s dangerous. But the rest of it, the loud, screaming voice between my ears, tells me to drag my hands down his chest. To undo the zipper on his jeans, reach into his boxer briefs, and wrap my fingers around his thick, throbbing erection.