Fighting Dirty

Her heavily made-up eyes studied him. “You don’t like the stuff we do?”

She looked vulnerable, and because of that, Armie kept his tone gentle and reassuring. “If you have to ask that, then you weren’t paying attention.”

“But you just said—”

“It’s your thing, honey, not mine. But I’m always happy to oblige.”

She leaned closer, and her voice went lower. “Now?”

Half smiling, he said, “Except for now.” Her pout was cute, but had no real effect on him. “If you’re getting married, you should be saving all those looks for him.”

“Like you’d ever be faithful.”

“If I got married, damn right I would. Now go.” He turned her, swatted her on the ass and said, “All things considered, you shouldn’t contact me again.”

Face flushed and eyes dreamy, she rubbed her tush. “I guess.”

“And you’ll talk to the fiancé?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I’ll tell him. But if you’re wrong, I will come back here just to smack you.”

Armie grinned. “You can try.”

As soon as she headed down the steps, he went in and shut the door, strode to the couch and fell facedown onto the cushions.

Did Merissa have any fetishes?

God, he’d love to find out.

Turning his head to the side, he checked his cell phone one more time, and there it was. A text message that read, Rissy was here.

* * *

SITTING ON THE STEP, smothering in indecision, Merissa avoided looking at the brunette who went past her with a polite nod. The woman was smiling, happy and on her way out.

Merissa wasn’t a natural-born eavesdropper, but when she’d gotten to the top of the stairs and heard Armie speaking to the woman, she’d frozen.

Once she caught the conversation she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. Her feet had turned to lead blocks and her ears had been attuned to every single word they shared.

Sure enough, Armie had turned the woman down.

But the things they’d discussed... What did the woman like?

Merissa held her phone, waiting, hoping, and the text message dinged an alert.

Licking her lips, she read: You okay? Need to talk?

Yup. Yup, she did. She texted back, Busy?

No.

Wow, that was fast. She twisted to look up at the landing, saw the still-closed door, and turned back to her phone. He was so close. In person?

Seconds ticked by. She compressed her mouth, held her breath, tapped her foot rapidly on the step.

Finally the message appeared: You shouldn’t drive.

Merissa thumbed in the reply, hesitated, hesitated some more, then hit Send. Already have.

* * *

ARMIE STARED AT the message. Already have. What did that mean? Was she out tooling around?

Bad idea.

He typed in: Where are you? If he needed to, he’d go get her. Somehow. But hell, he was drunk and he knew it.

A cab. He’d take a cab—

Here.

His eyes went wide. Here? Stupidly, he looked around his apartment, then sent another text. Here?

Yes.

Here-where?

A very soft, single knock sounded on his door.

He went still, then everything accelerated. His heartbeat, his breathing.

The rush of blood through his system.

Coming to his feet, Armie crossed the room and jerked the door open and—ah, hell. He didn’t blink. “Hey, Stretch.”

One brow shot up. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” Definitely. And because of that, he felt sluggish and pretty damned unsure how to welcome her.

Or should he send her on her way? He knew he wouldn’t, wise as it might be, so maybe he should call Cannon—

She came in uninvited.

His back still to her, his thoughts struggling to catch up, Armie stood there.

“You’re in your underwear.”

Oh shit. He’d forgotten. Leaving the door open, he faced her. Damn, she was close. Like kissing close.