Page 9 of Maybe You

“I’m also excellent in bed,” he says. “That, too, is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, your honor.”

“I’m gonna have to take your word for it.”

He waggles his brows. “Or fuck and find out.”

I snort and shake my head, half-amused, half-confused. “Who even says things like this?”

“People who are aiming to get in your pants?”

“No?” They don’t. At least, nobody ever has before. Nobody’s ever been so blatantly forward. Not that I have much experience to back up that claim. I spend most of my time in school or at work, doing my best to fly under the radar.

“Yes?” he says, mimicking my earlier skeptical tone almost perfectly. “I would know. I’m trying to do just that right now.”

I open and close my mouth, not even sure what to say to that anymore. It seems I’ve reached my limit of being hit on. If that really is what’s happening here.

“Okay,” I say. “A for effort, I guess. This has been… interesting. Yeah. This has been interesting. But I’m done with work now, so…”

“Time for the fun part? Just say the word, and I’ll gladly be your reward for a job well done.” He waggles his brows.

“I was thinking more along the lines of it being time for those cops I mentioned earlier.”

His shoulders slump, and he lets out a disappointed sigh. “You have a very pretty mouth,” he says. “But I’m not a fan of that last sentence at all.”

Yet another startled laugh escapes me while I try my best not to be flattered. “You’re the one who broke in here.”

“Oh, I know. I’m taking full responsibility, no problem with that.” He sends me a thoughtful look. “If I solve this ethical conundrum for you, will you be grateful and find yourself facing an overpowering need to come home with me? We’ll fuck and forget the rest of the world for the night.”

My stomach jolts.

I ignore it as best I can.

“Ethical conundrum?” I echo.

He waves his hand in the air dismissively. “The one where you want to do the right thing and be an upstanding citizen but also desperately want to take me up on my offer.”

I can’t help but laugh at the unprecedented level of sheer audacity and arrogance.

“Sure. Go ahead. Call the cops for me and confess.”

He grins and pulls his phone out. After sliding his thumb over the screen a few times he holds it out in front of himself and puts it on speaker. We listen to it ring for a little while.

“H’llo?” a very sleepy, definitely not 911 voice says.

“I want to confess my sins,” my late night guest announces.

There’s a long, long pause before the same sleepy voice on the other end of the phone says, “Sutton?”

“The one and only. I’m at the pool,” the guy—Sutton, apparently—says.

Another beat of silence follows.

“My pool?”

Yeah… That’s my boss. And based on this phone call, this dude is Quinn’s friend. Or at least somebody who knows him well enough to call in the middle of the night.

And I just hit him straight in the face with a rubber ball and accused him of breaking in. I’m sure there were a few other insults I threw in there.

Shit.