Page 20 of Rough and Rugged

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Page 20 of Rough and Rugged

He wrapped his fingers around my hand, and I stared dumbly at it. When he didn’t touch my dick, I glanced back up at him. His blue eyes twinkled like stars, and I wondered if he knew what I’d been considering. The smirk dropped off his face as he turned to my cousin, once again all grumpy. If I hadn’t experienced it, I’d assume the kiss was a drunken hallucination. He squeezed my hand and stroked his thumb across my palm, erasing any doubt.

Okay, hottie lumbergrump was a secret softy.I could dig that.

“Well?” Cliff demanded, his face all sorts of confused—his brow furrowed and his nose scrunched, but if I wasn’t mistaken, his cheeks were a little flushed, and his eyes held a hint of interest beneath the alcohol glaze.

Not into dudes, my ass.

No, wait. Notmyass. We’re related, and I wouldn’t touch Cliffy and his dirty fingernails even if we weren’t.

“Hisboyfriend. What’s it to you?” my lumbersavior asked.

Damn, that word sounded sexy coming from him. My body tingled with energy, and my leg bounced, wanting to wrap around his waist.

“It’s just…” Cliff shook his head like he was an Etch-a-Sketch. “Wow. Okay. Well, sorry, dude. I guess I’ll see you around, Lucky.”

“Yep. Later.” I ignored him as he stumbled back to his cronies. I stood, stumbling slightly at the sudden shift. Yep, no way was I weak in the knees. Nope.

My lumbergiant steadied me, his hand gripping my hip.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked.

“Fuck yes.” My words might have sounded desperate, but I was beyond caring. That corner of his mouth lifted, and I wanted to lick it.

“Feel like dancing?” he asked, turning and taking my hand back in his. When I didn’t respond, too stunned at the ease with which he commanded the space around him, he stopped. The ease at which he commanded the space around him from pure self-confidence was a breath of fresh air.

He waited for me to respond, and I remembered he’d asked a question. His attention was doing something to my chest. It wasn’t a ploy or manipulative gesture. This man truly wanted to know what I thought and cared about the answer, just like with the kiss and answering my cousin—he’d checked with me each time.

Consent—the new aphrodisiac.

Damn. That was sexy.

“I think I’d agree to dance in the rain if you asked,” I admitted.

Delight and surprise twinkled in his blue eyes. “How does a sweaty club with mediocre music and overpriced drinks sound?”

“Perfect.” I smiled, the answer never feeling so right before. A light fluttering of wings took flight in my stomach, like the butterflies I hadn’t felt since my first crush were re-emerging.

“Later, Daws!” the man at the bar shouted when we neared the door. My lumbersnack lifted his free hand to wave. I had the distinct impression he was a man of few words, making the ones he’d uttered to me more decadent.

Daws.

It felt nice to have a name for my lumbergrump, but something about the moniker didn’t fit. He led us over to a shiny black truck, opening the door on the passenger side before stepping back. He dropped my hand, crossed his arms over his chest, and lifted a brow when I stood there. I glanced at the raised cab, feeling slightly offended at the implication. Mirroring his stance, I leaned back against the side.

“I might be shorter than you, but I can get into this truck without help.”

“I know.” He lifted his eyebrow in challenge.

“Then why are you waiting?”

“I wanted to stare at your ass.”

I stuttered at his directness. “Oh. Well. Um…”

With those eloquent words, I spun around, grabbed hold of the handle, and lifted myself into the truck. Before I climbed in, I glanced over my shoulder and true to his words, his eyes were fixed on my ass.

“Play your cards right, and you might be doing more than stare, Lumbergrump.”

His dark blue orbs jumped to mine, his pupils dilating at my suggestion. He swallowed once, recovering his composure, and I slid into the front seat, smirking as I shut the door. I heard his deep chuckle as he rounded the front of the truck, pausing to shift himself before climbing in, and making the move look sexier than should be allowed.




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