Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(11)

"Uh, excuse me, Mr. Asshole? We were kind of in the middle of something!" Natasha added in a high-pitched voice. I was already in the foyer, swinging the door open, drawn like a magnet to the source of my entire fucking libido. Baby LeBlanc. That little, beautiful, crazy, pixie. 

Rosie wore a pair of untorn jeans and a basic white button-down shirt, her version of a tailored suit. A high, messy bun sat on top of her head, and her huge eyes told me she was not impressed. I leaned my shoulder against the door, grinning.

"Changed your mind about brunch?"

"Well, you blackmailed me into it with your reevaluation threat." Her eyes strayed from my face to my abs for a second before lifting back up to narrow at me.

Shit, I did. My memory of last night was fogged by alcohol, weed, and pussy.

"Come in." I stepped sideways. She turned her head in my direction as she stepped in.

"Thought you'd at least make some coffee before you tear me another asshole with the rent. So much for being neighborly," she muttered, drinking in my apartment through wide eyes.

I folded my arms over my chest, aware of my cut figure, and swiped my tongue over my bottom lip.

"You want neighborly? I can buy you breakfast at the bakery downstairs and give you a few orgasms for dessert," I said, adding, "And I can tear you another asshole in bed if you prefer."

"You need to stop hitting on me." Her voice was painfully flat as she walked past the massive white and gray island in the middle of my kitchen, stainless steel winking at us with a sparkle from every corner of the room. She plopped onto a stool and glared at my empty coffeepot by the sink as if it committed a hate crime.

"Why?" I taunted, turning the coffee machine on. Why did I have to stop hitting on Rosie LeBlanc? She was single now, after she dumped her boring, doctor boyfriend. She was fair game, and I was going to try to play with her until she had third-degree carpet burns all over her back.

In fact, that was the first thing I thought about when I saw the sorry-ass motherfucker moving his shit from her apartment. From my apartment.

I'm going to fuck your ex-girlfriend before the tears on her pillow dry, I thought. And she is going to love it so much she'll be crawling back for more.

Meanwhile, in real life, Rosie greedily accepted the mug of steamy coffee I silently offered her, taking a sip. She closed her eyes and moaned. Yes, moaned. Fuck, I wanted this sound to be my new ringtone. Then she opened her eyes and poured ice-cold water all over my fantasy.

"Because you've already dipped your sausage in my family gravy, and even though I know it's a secret recipe everyone wants more of, I'm afraid you're all out of luck."

"I love it when you talk culinary sex with me." I took a step toward the island, placing my forearms on it with a heated gaze.

"Maybe it's because we're Coca-Cola, and you always settle for Shasta." Her eyes wandered to the direction of my bedroom.

Every muscle in my torso tightened as I let out a genuine laugh. My noticeable V-taper, veiny arms, tight abs, and prominent pecs didn't escape her, and her newly peach-colored cheeks admitted that, even if she never would.

"I want you," I said simply, unapologetically-vulnerably, even-because I did.

"As you did my sister." Baby LeBlanc gave a curt nod. "Are you planning on screwing your way through our family tree? Should I print out a copy of our ancestry profile?"

"Please, when you get the chance." I served her some sass back. "Though I have a feeling you can keep me busy just fine."

"You're too stubborn," she coughed, as she did every other minute, taking another long sip of her cup of Joe.

"Yeah. Not lacking in that department. Or any department, for that matter." My smirk widened as my eyes slid down to my groin. We were engaging in a battle of will. That was fine. I was bound to win. I always got what I wanted. And what I wanted was sitting in front of me, waiting for my verdict about her rent.



       
         
       
        

Kennedy and Natasha appeared from the hallway. They were roommates, so I wasn't surprised when the latter told her friend the Uber they called would be downstairs in three minutes. Sharing a cab was smart economy. They needed to watch their spending after snorting their rent's worth in coke. Good for them.

"Bye, girls." I waved.

"Bye, asshole." Kennedy hurled her heeled shoe at me with an arm swing that made the quarterback in me want to whistle in admiration. I dodged it, ducking my head down fast. The red heel flew across the kitchen, passing next to Rosie's shoulder and crashing against the fridge.