Chapter Two
Dax
Holy fucking shit.
How did I even get here?
One second I’m sitting across the bar from my snotty ex-girlfriend, Kaitlyn, thinking about how badly I’d like to rub her face in my recent career success and the fact that my life is pretty fucking awesome since she walked out.
The next second I’m sidling up next to Kaitlyn and realizing holymotherofhell, this isn’t Kaitlyn at all.
It’s another polished blonde with a dress that spells “money,” a calculating look that spells “trouble,” and a body that spells “sin.”
That’s an awful lot of spelling for a guy who barely finished high school and never went to college. Not that it’s stopped me from busting ass to make something of myself. To go from a grubby kid scrounging for scrap metal in his daddy’s junkyard, to a minimum wage steelworker, to the guy who holds the patent on a double steel-walled beverage container that’s made me filthy fucking rich in the last year.
Where was I?
Right, the blonde. The one who’s looking at me like she wants to pour maple syrup on my abs and devour me like a stack of flapjacks. What the hell just happened?
“Dax,” I manage to spit out. “Dax Kensington. And you are?”
“Lisa Michaels.” She extends a manicured hand, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to kiss it or shake it. I settle for the handshake, then notice my knuckles are grease-stained from working on my bike this morning. Fuck.
Lisa notices, too, but instead of gasping with prissy horror and drawing her hand back, she meets my eyes again and gives me that calculating smile.
“Dax,” she says. “What do you do for fun?”
It’s not the question I expected from her. Not “what do you do for a living” or “do you prefer mutual funds or blue-chip stocks,” and it takes me a moment to answer.
“Well, I’m really into competitive duck herding, but I also enjoy train-surfing and extreme ironing.”
It’s a dickhead answer, not just because I’m being a jackass, but because I’m guessing the ironing thing isn’t too far off the mark of what Lisa Michaels really does for fun. Her outfit looks like she gets up to press it once an hour to eliminate unsightly wrinkles.
She surprises me by tossing all that shiny gold hair and laughing. “Oh, you’re a real smart-ass, hmm? You seem like a man who needs to be taught manners.”
Across the table, Lisa’s two companions exchange a worried glance. One of them clears her throat and gives me an apologetic look. “Our sister is, um…going through a rough time.”
The other one nods at Lisa. “And she’s not really used to drinks that are quite so…stiff.”
Is it my imagination, or did that chick just glance at my crotch? I don’t have time to ponder it because Lisa’s talking again, and damn if the woman doesn’t yank my attention like she’s got it on a choke chain.
“My sisters are right,” she says as she picks up her martini and takes a ladylike sip. “But I suppose one could posit that there hasn’t been nearly enough stiff or dirty in my life thus far.”
Did she really just say “posit” and “thus” in the same sentence as “stiff” and “dirty?” Who the hell is this chick? And why the fuck do I care?
I tap the stem of her martini glass. “How many of those have you had?”
She sets it down on the table, reaches under the table and grabs my knee. Her green eyes lock with mine, and it shocks me enough that I almost drop my beer.
“Enough to take you home with me right now and do unspeakable things all night long.” She frowns, possibly replaying those words in her head and not liking the sound of them. “Wait, I didn’t mean to imply I’d have to be drunk in order to—”
“One,” her sister interjects, smiling a little as she shakes her head. “Lisa has only had the one drink.”
“And no, she’s not crazy,” the other sister adds helpfully, tossing out the sort of fond smile you’d reserve for a nutty aunt who just gnawed the drumstick off the turkey at Thanksgiving dinner. “Present display notwithstanding.”
Lisa shoots them a disdainful look, but there’s more warmth in it than actual anger. It’s clear these three are tight. I’m still a little mind-whacked from her hand on my knee and the words she just said a few seconds ago.
Enough to take you home with me right now and do unspeakable things all night long.
“I’m sorry, did you just proposition me?” I ask.
Lisa nods, looking a little surprised by it herself. “Yes. Yes, I did. Is that a problem?”
I think about it a second. “You’re not married?”
“Of course not.” She gives me a haughty eyebrow lift.
“Or drunk?”
She scoffs. “Hardly.”
I study her, trying to figure out the angle. “Is this some sort of grudge fuck?”
She looks me right in the eye, an unexpected challenge in those green depths. “Would that be a problem for you?”
I hesitate. Do I really want to start down this path? True, I have a weakness for polished blondes, but that hasn’t turned out great for me in the past.
Then again, I did come over here intending to one-up my ex.
Lisa’s hand slides a few inches up my thigh, and I find myself grunting an answer. “Nope. Grudge fucks are not a problem.”
Her face breaks into a broad smile, and my chest tightens unexpectedly. Holy hell, she’s gorgeous when she does that. I grip my beer and remind myself to keep a tight grip on my sanity while I’m at it.
“Well, Dax Kensington,” Lisa says, licking her lips. “Shall we get out of here?”