The Fling (Playboy Pact 2) - Page 6


“Right.” I nodded, trying to act all confident when I was internally freaking out.

Me? Be sexy? Sure…

I pouted my lips and narrowed my eyes at her, trying to look at her the way she'd just taught me.

“Jesus, are you having a seizure?”

“No, I’m mimicking the expression you showed me.”

“Sage, you look like you’re holding in a fart.”

I laughed, finding immature humor funny. Probably because I had an older brother who was as immature as they come. While Aspyn got dressed and ready, I practiced my sexy, confident face in the mirror and the poses she'd taught me. It wasn’t long before we were in her car, driving toward the party. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I was sweating buckets, and I was grateful I’d put on extra deodorant. After I changed my clothes back into the skimpier outfit, I realized time was moving at a rapid pace, and we were almost to the party.

“Do I say something to him when I see him?”

“Absolutely not. You need to completely ignore him.”

“Ummm … I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head I will find you the hottest guy to flirt with, and you won’t even be thinking about Memphis.”

“Aspyn—”

She slammed on the brakes, causing my body to jolt forward. Seconds later, I heard a male voice holler, “This is why chicks shouldn’t drive!”

—Ashton—

The last word barely left my mouth before a five-foot-nothing tiny girl shot out of the driver’s seat of her car.

“Excuse me?!” she bit, reminding me of a chihuahua. All bark and no bite.

“Oh shit,” I overheard her friend mutter from the passenger seat, rushing out behind her friend.

The first thing I noticed was how pretty she was, hurrying out of the car to help her friend.

“I can drive perfectly fine!” the girl in front of me snapped, bringing my attention back to her. “It’s when guys with douchebag haircuts walk in front of me that it gets a little difficult.”

“Maybe if you’d learn to watch where you’re driving instead of checking yourself out in the rearview mirror, you wouldn’t almost hit me.”

“You sexist asshole!”

“Oh, we’re not sexist,” Sawyer chimed in. “We love girls. Just not when they try to kill us.”

Her eyes shifted to Sawyer. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember asking you for your input.”

“You didn’t.” Sawyer grinned, winking at her. “I gave it to you anyway.”

She jerked back, not appreciating his response.

“And if we are being technical, you have to yield to pedestrians, as you can see.” He gestured to the crosswalk.

See … fucking smart.

“And what are you? The crossing monitor of your group?”

“I prefer traffic coordinator.”

I scoffed out a chuckle, hearing Sawyer’s reply to the chick who had her panties in a bunch. “Is no one going to make sure I’m alive? I’m the one who was almost taken out Fast and Furious style.”

“Sexist and dramatic. How attractive,” the pretty girl with the stupid-looking hat said.

“Cain!” I smiled, never taking my eyes off of her. “Someone call an ambulance because I think I’m seeing the light.”

“Does that cheesy line really work?”

“You tell me?”

She gazed down at the ground, blushing while Sawyer and her hothead friend continued to argue, going back and forth.

“How about you get me a drink since your friend tried to run me over?”

“Uh…” She peered back and forth between her and Sawyer, who were still arguing like cats and dogs. “I think I could do that.”

Cain slapped me on the chest, whispering in my ear, “Only you would pick up a chick during a near-death experience.”

I threw him a look and grabbed the pretty girl’s hand, catching her by surprise.

“You’re holding my hand because…”

“How else am I supposed to cross the street? I mean, with drivers like your friend and all.”

“I heard that!” her friend shouted.

“Don’t listen to him. You need to listen to me,” Sawyer ordered.

“Who the hell do you think you are? I don’t need to listen to you!”

“On that note…” I didn’t wait for her friend’s reply to Sawyer’s demands, walking toward the backyard. “Let’s go.”

Despite not living in this town or attending their school, we’d been to parties at this house before. Our school’s football team played theirs every year, and this guy was notorious for his parties. Once we got to the keg, I let go of her hand and poured our drinks into red Solo cups.

Handing it to her, she sarcastically asked in a tone I recognized all too clearly, “So these are your moves?”

She wanted me.

I grinned, taking a sip of my beer. “My moves?”

“Yeah, your moves. I know you have at least one.”

I grinned again, scoffing out a chuckle this time. “I think I’m offended.”

“Does that mean I left a lasting impression?”

“Do you want to leave a lasting impression?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not you impress me with your”—she arched an eyebrow—“big move.”


Tags: M. Robinson Playboy Pact Romance
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