CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JOSH

I'D ENCOUNTERED MY FAIR SHARE OF JERKS, BUT I COULD SAY without hesitation that the guy standing in front of me took the top prize.

Maybe it was the greasy grin plastered on his face or the way he’d slicked back his hair like a slimy politician desperate for votes.

Or maybe it was the way his eyes roamed over Lena like she was his first real meal in weeks and he was starving.

Whatever it was, my earlier smug satisfaction over getting a rise out of Lena evaporated, replaced by a surge of inexplicable disgust.

You need someone to bend you over and fuck that attitude right out of you.

The whiskey had loosened my tongue, and watching her kiss Marshall had snapped the last thread of my self-restraint. I'd said what had been boiling beneath the surface—what we both knew had been simmering since Vermont.

Lena could glare, bite back, and pretend all she wanted, but her desire for me was unmistakable. She wanted this—wanted me—just as badly as I wanted her. And we were both miserable over it.

"Todd." Her voice dripped with disdain, wrapping that single name in pure venom.

The corner of my mouth tugged up in an involuntary smirk before I forced it back into neutrality.

She knew this guy?

"I thought that was you," Todd said, not bothering to mask the way his gaze dropped straight to her chest. "But I wasn’t sure. You look even hotter in person."

My jaw clenched. Sure, I appreciated a good view as much as the next guy, but this? This was downright disrespectful. The man hadn't made eye contact with Lena once since walking up—his gaze had been glued elsewhere the entire time.

Part of me was almost relieved by the interruption—it came just before I did something I’d no doubt regret. But a darker, more primitive part of me wanted to knock the guy’s teeth in for looking at her like that.

I slowly rotated my glass between my fingers, unsettled by the violent impulse that had surfaced. Where the hell had that come from? Since when did I give a damn about who checked Lena out?

I don’t. Todd just has a face that begs to be punched. That’s it.

"You don’t," Lena said, her tone laced with syrupy sarcasm sharp enough to drop a bull. "I guess those pictures were a little misleading."

Despite my annoyance, I couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across my face.

She was brutal. And I fucking loved it.

If Todd picked up on the insult, he gave no sign. Honestly, I wasn’t even convinced he was listening—his eyes were still glued to her chest, which was doing its best to burst out of that button-up.

"Sorry about our date the other day," he said, and just like that, my smile vanished. "My car broke down, and my phone died. I tried texting afterward, but I never heard back from you."

It didn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place. This was the idiot who ghosted her at The Bronze Gear?

Damn. I thought she had better standards than that.

"If by the other day, you mean nearly a month ago, then no—your apology is not accepted," Lena replied, her voice chilled with disdain. "Also, you never texted me.

But that’s alright. Swiping right on you was clearly a serious lapse in judgment. I’ve since recovered, so you can scurry along now." She flicked her hand at him in dismissal. "And for the record, my face is up here, jerk."

Todd’s face turned an impressive shade of purple. "I was trying to be nice, okay? I felt bad about what happened. You don’t need to act like such a bitch."

A low growl escaped my throat before I could stop it.

I started to speak, but Lena cut me off. "As far as I can tell, you’re the one whining," she said coolly, lifting one brow. "I’m simply enjoying my drink."

She leaned back slightly, her tone turning razor-sharp. "Keep pestering me, and I’ll gladly get security to toss you out of here for harassment.

So unless you want a scene in front of all these people..." She motioned to the crowd around us. "I suggest you take the hint and leave. Now."

Todd’s lips tightened into a hard line, but he must’ve sensed she wasn’t bluffing. He turned and stomped off without another word.

"Don’t say a thing," Lena warned once he was gone. She downed the rest of her cocktail in one fluid motion, not sparing me a glance.

I lifted my hands in mock surrender. The tension that had tightened my body began to unravel now that Todd was out of the picture, though irritation still buzzed faintly beneath the surface. “Not a word,” I promised. After a beat, I added, “You seriously swiped right on that clown?”

A flush crept up her cheeks. “I’m swamped with law school,” she said defensively. “Options are slim, and, well… I have needs.”

“So you decided to hit rock bottom?”

“Maybe,” she said, voice dripping with faux sweetness, “but at least I haven’t hit your level yet. Speaking of which, haven’t seen you with anyone recently. What’s the deal, Ethany? Run out of women dumb enough to believe your crap?”

“It’s a lifestyle choice, Red. I could pull any girl I wanted—anytime.”

“Wrong. You can’t pull me.”

“I haven’t tried yet.”

We locked eyes, the weight of the unspoken challenge pressing between us like a taut string ready to snap.

If I did try... would she cave to the desire flashing in her eyes? Would she let me make good on what I’d said earlier—bend her over and take control—or would she dig in her heels and fight me every inch of the way?

I smirked.

I already knew the answer. Lena didn’t hand over power easily. That was one of the reasons I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“You’re such an arrogant jackass.” There was a flicker of calculation in her gaze.

“If you’re so smooth with the ladies, how about a little game?”

Now she had my attention. “What kind of game?”

“Easy,” she said, tilting her head. Her hair cascaded down her shoulder in a gleaming waterfall of copper. “We see who can collect the most phone numbers in the next hour. Winner gets bragging rights.”

To someone else, that might’ve sounded petty. But between us, bragging rights held more weight than designer watches or flashy cars. Maybe even more.

Nothing topped personal victory.

“You’re on.” My grin oozed confidence. Lena was clever, but I had this in the bag.

I always came out on top.

“Perfect.” She glanced toward the large wall clock. “We meet back here at ten minutes to seven.”

I didn’t wait for her to finish. I was already moving, scanning the room before she even laid out the rules. My strategy was locked in, and I made a direct line toward a group of women in their twenties tucked into the corner.

Luck was on my side. The crowd skewed heavily female, giving me a solid edge—so long as I avoided anyone clearly taken.

I kept my approach short, smooth, and playful. I didn’t make empty promises, but I gave each woman just enough attention to feel special. They handed over their numbers easily, smiling as they did.

A few of them probably realized I was up to something, considering how quickly I bounced from conversation to conversation, but they didn’t seem to mind. In fact, most seemed amused.

By the time the big hand hit six-thirty, I’d collected more than a dozen numbers. I should’ve been feeling smug, but something gnawed at me as I glanced back toward Lena.

She hadn’t budged from her spot.

She sipped her drink with calm detachment, watching me work the crowd like a cat watching a mouse run in circles.

What the hell was she playing at?

I couldn’t take it anymore. I ended the chat with the woman I was currently charming and stalked straight over to Lena. Planting my palms firmly on the wooden tabletop, I fixed her with a glare. “Alright, what are you up to?”

“What are you talking about?” Lena blinked at me, feigning innocence like a baby deer just learning to walk.

“We’ve got…” I checked the time again, eyebrows pulling together. “...ten minutes left, and you haven’t even tried to talk to a guy. Don’t tell me you’re relying on them to come crawling over to you first.”

Some had, sure—but that wasn’t her style. Lena was a strike-first, take-no-prisoners kind of woman. She didn’t wait around.

“I’m not waiting.”

“Then you’re throwing in the towel?” I lifted an eyebrow. “If you’re afraid of losing, just say so. No need for this elaborate bluff.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m not surrendering.” At last, she set her glass down and stood, unfolding herself with deliberate elegance.

She shrugged off her jacket, every movement so fluid it was like watching syrup slip slowly from a spoon.

Smooth. Sultry. Fucking lethal.

My throat went bone-dry.

Her outfit was textbook business casual—a crisp white button-down tucked into a tailored gray skirt, black heels that added height to her already long legs, and a simple gold chain that peeked from under her collar.

Yet on Lena, the ensemble might as well have been sinful silk and lace.

I couldn’t help it—my eyes dragged over the dip of cleavage just visible through her unbuttoned shirt, the soft curves the outfit clung to like a second skin.

She wasn’t sculpted and lean like the women I usually saw in the gym. She was soft. Full. Temptation personified.

A bolt of heat scorched down my spine as an image slammed into me: Lena pinned to the wall, skirt bunched up, legs wrapped around my waist while I pounded into her until she screamed.

I shoved the thought away as soon as it hit me, but it had already done its damage. My body stirred, and a hard ache throbbed low in my gut.

My jaw tensed. I hated how she got under my skin like this. For years, I’d been immune to her, and now suddenly, she was all I could think about. I didn’t know what had shifted between us, but it was messing with my head—and seriously pissing me off.

“I’m winning this bet. Watch and learn, Hale,” she purred. Then, with a wicked smile, she sauntered off toward the DJ booth.

Watching her walk away did absolutely nothing to calm the ache now building in my groin. Of all the shitty things that could happen to me, developing an uncontrollable physical attraction to Lena Carter ranked at the top of the damn list.

Desire, irritation, and curiosity wrestled inside me as she leaned in and whispered something to the DJ. He gave a sympathetic nod—and then abruptly cut the music.

A pang of suspicion flared sharp in my chest. Why the hell would he…

Realization struck, and I shot out of my chair.

No. No way in hell.

But she did.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your happy hour, but I’ll keep this short,” Lena said, her voice ringing through the bar with startling clarity. It was strong and confident—but laced with just enough vulnerability to capture everyone’s attention.

“Here’s the deal: I just got out of a long, miserable relationship, and my friend over there”—she gestured at me, and like a domino effect, heads turned in my direction—“reminded me that the best way to get over someone… is to get under someone else.”

She delivered the line with a perfect balance of hesitation and heat, like a siren teasing sailors from the rocks. The kind of tone that made every man in the bar suddenly sit up straighter and pay attention. She knew exactly what she was doing. Goddamn it.

“So I’m looking for a rebound. No strings, just a night or two. If you’re interested, send me your number. Thanks.”

Direct. Effective. And entirely fictional, of course. Typical Lena—sharp and strategic.

For a few stunned seconds, the bar fell into a charged silence. One... two... three beats of stunned disbelief—and then chaos erupted.

The place exploded in cheers and whistles. Dozens of guys scrambled forward like dogs chasing after a steak, eager to throw their names into the ring for the chance to be her “rebound.”

I shook my head, still trying to wrap my brain around what I’d just witnessed.

It felt like I’d been dropped straight into some absurd movie scene—completely unreal. If I hadn’t seen it happen with my own eyes, I never would’ve believed it.

But of course, this was Lena’s doing. Only she could dream up something that bold—and actually pull it off with style.

Her gaze found mine through the sea of eager guys, her expression practically glowing with smug satisfaction. Sucks to lose, she mouthed at me.

Yeah. It did. I despised losing. But I couldn’t even muster a shred of real irritation because what she’d just pulled? That was next-level brilliance.

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, a low, reluctant laugh escaping despite myself.

Lena Carter was a force of nature—unpredictable, unstoppable, and completely unforgettable.