“Okay. I’ll wait for you outside.”

I had to play it just right. Taylor was only chasing me because I was running. I couldn’t appear too eager.

I sighed. “You’re not just going to go away, are you?”

One corner of his mouth curled up, a dimple sinking into his left cheek.

Taylor was unquestionably attractive. The butterflies I felt in my stomach when he looked at me were undeniable, and I wanted to hate the way I felt, even more than I wanted to hate men. His delicious full lips, a needless decoration for his already perfect features, only added to how ridiculously good-looking he was. The symmetry of his face was flawless. His chin and jaw had just the right amount of stubble—not clean-shaven and not yet the beginning of a beard. His warm chocolate eyes were intermittently hidden behind a thick line of lashes. Taylor had all the makings of an underwear model, and he knew it.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You like watching me assess your looks to decide if I’m going to let that overshadow the fact that you’re a cunt rag.”

“I’m not that bad,” he said, trying to suppress the odd amusement the words brought him.

“What is the name of the last girl you slept with? Just the first name.”

He mulled over my question, and then his shoulders sagged. “Okay, I’m kind of a cunt rag.”

I glanced down at his arms. They were both covered in neo-traditionalist tattoos. Bright colors and thick black lines displayed an eight ball, a fanned-out hand of aces and eights, a dragon, a skull, and a woman’s name.

“I’ll go away, but I don’t want to.” He glanced up at me from under his brow, turning his charm on full throttle.

Any other girl might have melted, but all I could think about was how hard fate had just slapped me in the face.

“Who’s Diane?” I asked.

He looked down at his feet. “Why do you ask?”

I nodded toward his arm. “Is she an ex-girlfriend? Are you a scorned man, sleeping your way through debilitating heartbreak?”

“Diane is my mother.”

My mouth immediately felt dry, my throat like I’d swallowed hot sand. I blinked. “Shit.”

“I prefer shit to sorry.”

“I don’t apologize … anymore.”

He grinned. “I believe that. Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I’m a little overprotective when it comes to men getting aggressive with women. I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again, but I can promise that it won’t happen tonight. So”—he looked at me from under his lashes, exuding the full force of his magnetic charm—“let’s go.”

I pressed my lips together. Now that I needed him, the game had become particularly risky. I had to be stubborn but not impossible. “Nope.”