Filthy English

After a few moments of silence, she slipped her mask off, set it on the table, and nibbled on her thumbnail, something I’d seen her do a dozen times at frat parties when she didn’t know I was watching her.

Was she thinking about me?

About that fucking epic kiss?

No, you arsehole.

She’s broken up over another dude. Get your head out of the sand. Plus, she’s too smart for you. Even drunk, she’s probably thinking about some bird in Africa and how it . . .

“Stop all your pacing,” she said, eyeing me. “Will you please sit?”

I let out a breath. Part of me didn’t want to leave her, even though at this point I could since Lulu would be up here soon. I rubbed my jaw, and pulled up another chair to the booth she was in. I might as well be useful. “Let’s look at your ankle.”

She moved her foot off the chair and settled it on my knee. A mile long and soft, her legs were hot. Remi wasn’t beautiful if you looked at each individual feature: her nose was a hair too long, her cheekbones high and a bit broad, the space between her two front teeth obvious, but when you combined it together, she was one of the sexiest girls I’d ever met. Only she didn’t know it.

Yeah, yeah, you love how she looks. It makes you hard. Move on.

But it was funny how I’d always spot her, even yards away on campus. Not that it had ever done me any good. As soon as she saw me, she’d be in the wind.

I traced my fingers over the swollen lump on the right side of her ankle. It was small, and from being around Declan and the gym and just from a general knowledge of playing sports, I knew she’d be okay. “I think it’s a sprain, but not serious. Still hurting?”

Her shoulders had tensed as I touched her. “Not as much.”

“If the swelling doesn’t go down by tomorrow, you’ll need to see a doctor. I can recommend one for you if you want. I’ve been here all summer and have a good feel for the place.”

“It will be fine. I fall all the time. Can I have my leg back now?”

“Fine with me.” I eased back from her ankle and scooted my chair away from her.

The seconds ticked by as she gazed at the wall and played with her hair, which flowed down her back like a freaking waterfall. A memory stabbed at me—one where I’d wrapped my hand in her hair, tugged her face back, and hammered into her.

I shifted around on my seat.

“Why did you kiss me the second time after you knew it was me?” She doodled on the table with her index finger. Her head came up when I didn’t answer right away, her eyes meeting mine. “Dax?”

I shrugged. “Because I still remember that weekend we were together . . . because—dammit—I don’t know, okay?” I stood back up, crossing my arms. “The ice is taking too long. I’m going to see where she went—”

“Dax. Wait.”

I turned back around, my eyes skating over her.

She took a deep breath, confusion on her face. “Look, I came here tonight looking for my rebound guy. I wanted to hurt Hartford by sexing it up with a hot British dude. That’s why I kissed you.”

“I’m not judging you, Remi.”

“Then this bartender kinda hit on me, but I got T. rex arms and fell and you caught me, and I thought fate had put us together, and then that kiss . . .” She stopped and squinted. “Am I making sense? I totally am, right?”

Not even close, but I nodded.

She sighed. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is I shouldn’t have slapped you. It’s not like me and was a knee-jerk reaction. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for being an egotistical waste of oxygen.” I sent her a wry grin.

Her hands twisted the bracelet on her wrist, eyes downcast. “Tell me something. You mentioned something earlier about me storming out that day . . . if I hadn’t walked out on you, would we have been a real thing?”

I opened my mouth, and for half a second I didn’t know what I was going to say. My eyes met hers. “Three weeks is my longest with any girl. You were amazing, Remi—but it’s doubtful we would have lasted much beyond that. We were so hot for each other, I never got around to clarifying—”

She held her hand up. “Stop explaining. I figured it out pretty quick when you never called or texted—and when I saw you the next week with another girl.”

The waitress showed up with water, a Ziploc bag of ice, and a towel, stopping any further discussion about the topic. After she left, I sat back down in the chair and put the towel under the ice and then on her ankle. “Sorry, this is probably going to be cold,” I said gently.

“I can deal. I always do,” she murmured, eyes on her foot as she took a sip of water.

“Remi?”

She looked up at me. “Yeah?”

I exhaled. “Listen. I want to make it up to you. For being an arsehole back then—and tonight.”

“An ass would have left me down there fumbling around like a drunk, one-legged pirate. You didn’t.”

My lips kicked up. “Funny.”

Her fingers plucked at the hem of her dress. “What’s funny is I can’t recall what I had for dinner last night, but I remember every single detail of that weekend with you. How the window was open and the wind blew the curtains. I let you . . .”

“Better watch what you say. You’re not yourself,” I said softly.

She laughed, the first genuine one I’d heard. “You’re right. I sound like a sappy girl with a crush on the school bad boy—oh, wait, that did happen.”