Page 41 of Trailer Trash

I’m stunned when she hooks her hands behind my neck and yanks me down to her mouth.

The kiss is quick, but I feel every inch of her wanting more.

She breaks away, stumbling backward.

“Sorry! You’re just so freaking hot. Ugh! We’ll talk on Monday!”

Then she slips into the car. Poof. Gone.

I stand there, confused.

Why does this feel like more than a missed fuck?

10

Harlow

My car barely made it to work today, but I’ve got a bigger problem.

As soon as I walk through the door, Killian is there, waiting for me. When we make eye contact, he grins so wide I can see his perfect teeth. Even the broken side of his mouth pulls tight. I’m sure it hurts, but he doesn’t show it.

It’s clear he’ll have an uneven smile permanently — but damn, it does something to me.

Because I like making Killian this happy. It’s always a drug to be somebody’s high.

Unfortunately, that’s unhealthy for both of us. It also means my mistake hasn’t been forgotten.

He wraps his arms around me like I’m already his. His body is warm and hard. Before I melt into the feel of a man holding me — something I miss — I slip free.

“Uh, hi,” I say with forced indifference, then brush past him.

I take a seat in the empty front room of the mansion, determined to start fresh.

Of course, he drops onto the couch beside me, close enough that our thighs touch. I move back swiftly, pivoting my knees toward his, creating some distance.

As professionally as I can, I prepare myself, sitting straighter and lifting my chin.

His brown eyes narrow immediately, their color darkening.

Obviously, he knows I’m not about to straddle his lap again, even though he looks... so damn good. He’s put together more than usual. Freshly shaved face, hair recently cut and styled, new shirt and pants, thick gold chain, and that expensive, intoxicating cologne. This is all for me, and that only makes this harder.

“First,” I start, determined to stick to my plan. “I am sorry for how I behaved the other night. I am embarrassed. I never get that drunk. That is not who I am.”

“Yes, it is,” he says. “Don’t act like it was just alcohol.”

“It was and—”

“Quit being stupid. Your needy pussy rode my finger like it was grateful for any scrap.”

“Whoa!” I balk, and look around the room, as if walls can hear.

“Wait till she gets the real thing. She’ll beg me to move in.”

Suddenly, he moves closer. I lean back, but the monster doesn’t take it as a rejection. Instead, he takes it as an invitation to crawl on top of me.

Okay, he definitely got the wrong impression.

My palms press against his chest, trying desperately to push him off. The sofa creaks under our combined weight. He’s a cage of muscle, swallowing the sunset’s golden light streaming through the windows.