Page 36 of Misguided

He chuckles to himself and fishes out a pair of boxer briefs in my periphery. I give in and eyeball his ass as he tugs them up his legs.

“I know what you’re doing,” I say, pulling my panties down my legs. No way I’m wearing them two days in a row.

“What would that be, Mel?” The clamor of his buckle as he yanks his jeans up makes me pause in my answer.

“Teasing. Playing unfair because I hurt your feelings last night.”

He grimaces, appearing to think the concept over as I wrestle my cut-offs on, commando.

“See,” Dog says with a twist of his lips, “you’re not quite right there.”

“Why?”

“Because to hurt my feeling’s darlin’,” he drawls, “I’d actually have to care.”

Burn.

“No love lost between friends, right?” He throws me a wink as he latches up his belt buckle, and then turns abruptly to put his cut on.

“Today’s going to be a bucket-load of fun, ain’t it,” I muse out loud as I throw the covers back and head for the mirror propped on his bureau.

He smirks, watching me with folded arms as I finger-comb my hair and retie it. Those deep amber-flecked pools never leave me as I turn for the door. I hold his gaze as I walk by, even further confused by the heat I find in their depths.

If he doesn’t care, then why the hell does he still look like he wants to devour me?

Because you’re a challenge, Mel. That’s all. And Dog? He’s never turned one down yet.