Playing Dirty (Stargazer #2)(12)
Author: Jennifer Echols

She didn’t touch her own chin.

Holy cow. A shadow descended over her as he watched. He reached out to her scar. She turned her head away, murmuring, “Don’t.”

Fascinated to find a genuine hard part in the soft girl, he bent to kiss her.

She opened her mouth for his. She tasted of tequila and sweetness, and he wanted more. He held her against the cold steel of the refrigerator and let his lips travel down to her neck, around to her ear. When she shivered, he pressed his whole body against her to warm her.

He didn’t stop when the kitchen door opened and Martin called back outside to the others, “Q’s kissing the Wookiee.”

Sarah tried to pull away from Quentin, but against the refrigerator, she didn’t have anywhere to go, and Quentin was determined to stay with her.

Owen shoved his shoulder hard, sending him into the middle of the kitchen.

“Owen,” said Quentin in warning.

“Quentin,” said Owen in the same tone.

“Owen,” Quentin said again, and burst out laughing.

Owen rolled his eyes.

“I’ll make margaritas,” Quentin suggested, vaguely remembering the pretense Erin had used to bring him into the kitchen. He waited for Owen and Martin to back slowly out the door. Then, as he gathered ingredients, he explained to Sarah, “They don’t want anything to happen between us. The record company sent you, and our relationship with the record company is contentious.”

What was he saying? As he got more drunk, he was having a hard time editing out words longer than five letters. But maybe Sarah wouldn’t notice, because his drawl got worse and made him sound more backwoods the more he drank. Or so he’d been told. Like he could tell.

She edged up to him while he ran the blender. When he flicked off the icy roar, she put her hand to the waistband of his shorts and slipped one finger inside. “I don’t want to be a Wookiee,” she said seductively. “I want to be Leia. Like in your song.”

Oh shit, she was coming on to him!

He glanced outside through the glass-paned kitchen door and saw Erin, Owen, and Martin each holding up three fingers. Rule Three.

“Let’s go finish these guys off,” he said, filling the pitcher and grabbing Sarah’s hand.

It didn’t take long. Martin was clinging to his long-sleeved shirt for the time being, but Owen was down to his tighty-whities. Erin must have decided it was time to intimidate Sarah with her nakedness, because she threw the next hand and lost her shorts.

Quentin knew from experience that the sight of Erin wriggling out of her shorts was  p**n ographic. He shielded his eyes and turned toward Sarah.

Sarah smiled. “You can look.”

“That’s right generous of you,” Quentin said, “but I’d get slapped. Again.” After the shorts flew into the pool and Erin safely sat down again, he turned back to the table.

Erin also lost the next hand. “T-shirt, thong?” she asked. “It’s not really a choice.”

“Why don’t you take a dip in the pool, and we’ll count that,” Quentin suggested.

“Good idea,” Martin said.

Owen looked like he was going to murder everyone.

They all turned to watch Erin walk slowly, seductively down the pool steps, swim underwater to the side, and climb slowly, seductively up the ladder, long blond hair slicked back, soaked T-shirt clinging to her br**sts. She called, “Does this mean I’m all in?”

“I think we all are,” Martin said.

Now they were watching Quentin expectantly. Right. The burly hick act. He was supposed to start a fight. “I’d like to get all into that,” he called to Erin. It was a lame line, but the best he could come up with under the circumstances.

Owen jumped up, fists balled. “That’s it! Come on!” he hollered at Quentin, sounding and looking as threatening as he could manage in his underwear. Martin ducked away from the table. Erin splashed out of the pool to pull on Owen’s arm.

Quentin stood and said quietly to Sarah beside him, “Move, please.” With a quick push on the edge, he heaved the table over.

Instead of dashing its contents across the patio like it was supposed to, the table kept going, and the whole thing fell into the pool. It floated there upside down for a few seconds, then sank.

“Well, that’s never happened,” he said, then started to laugh. He didn’t mean to laugh when they were supposed to be fighting, but Owen looked so serious that it was hilarious.

“Oh no,” someone said.

He kept laughing and couldn’t stop. Then Owen laughed, and Erin grinned, and Martin shook his head, and Sarah looked at them like they were all from Dagobah.

Erin jumped back into the pool, swam deep down, and brought up handfuls of chips and money and jewelry, which she dumped at the edge.

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to do that,” Quentin said, leaning over the side. “I’ll do it. Or maybe it’ll come up in the filter.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m already wet. Back away from the side, Q, before you fall in.” She went under again.

“I should go,” Sarah called.

“Oh no!” Quentin jumped up, nearly fell down, and braced himself on her shoulder. He was damned if he was going to get drunk and make a fool of himself and be hungover tomorrow for nothing. His beautiful pink-haired girl, gone. “You shouldn’t drive.”

Martin sifted through the growing mound Erin had retrieved from the pool bottom. He handed a short, soggy stack of bills to Quentin and a thick stack to Sarah, along with a torn check.

Sarah waved her wet hundreds at Quentin. “Taxi,” she said.

“No, no. If it comes to that, I’ll call my car service for you.” He put his hands on her shoulders and bent to whisper in her ear, “It doesn’t have to come to that. Stay the night with me.”

She shook her head no. “I was tempted earlier, but I don’t think you’re truly as attracted to me as you’ve led me to believe. You just tried your best to start a fight over your ex-girlfriend.”

“That was out of habit,” he insisted. “I was only pretending to look surprised when the table fell in the pool. This is what we always do at parties. At Christmas we throw a sofa in the pool. For Thanksgiving we put a chair in the bathtub. You should come back for St. Patrick’s Day one year.”

They both backed away from the pool as Erin climbed up the ladder.

“Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” Owen said, ogling Erin’s boobs and exchanging a fake look of desire with her that Quentin found too convincing.