“Exactly,” I retort, pulling his finger from my mouth and dropping his hand. “Now tell me your passcode so we can exchange numbers. We’re going to be way too distracted once we get to my house.”

He doesn’t bother arguing this time and rattles off the four-digit passcode. I add my number and contemplate what name to use, finally settling on Clock Tower Girl before sending myself a text.

“There,” I announce with a flourish, placing his phone into one of the cupholders between us. “Turn left at the next light,” I add once I realize we’re close to my street.

Dempsey coasts his fancy-ass Range Rover down Willow Drive while I fantasize about all the dirty things I want to do to him tonight. I felt his cock through his pants when I pushed him into that clock tower. He’s big, just like I knew he’d be. Thankfully, I don’t have any other plans this weekend, and I always did like a good challenge.

I pull out my phone as I glance up to see where we are. “Oh, we’re almost here. It’s the third house on the left after the flag-pole,” I tell him mindlessly as I save his number.

The car slows, then I feel his eyes on me.

“This is your house?” he murmurs.

Something about his tone stops my heart right in my damn chest. When I look over to meet his gaze, the man I flirted with all night and made out with just minutes ago is gone.

Instead, all I see is loathing.

Shit.

“Yep,” I quip, my voice high-pitched and shaky. “Just pull in the driveway and park on the left. I’ve got the place to myself all summer.”

He frowns as he pulls into the driveway and slams the gearshift into park, focused intently on the closed garage door.

“Have you lived here long?” he grits out without turning his head to look at me.

Damn. I can’t lie to him. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true since I’ve been lying by omission all night, but for some inexplicable reason, I feel compelled to answer honestly.

“I’ve lived in this house my whole life,” I confirm, unlatching my seatbelt to give myself an excuse not to meet his gaze.

“And you know Jake how, exactly?”

Fuckity fuck. The jig is up.

Had I suspected he’d been here before, I would have insisted we go to his place. I never expected him to recognize my damn house. When the hell would he have been here?

Evading the truth is futile. He knows who I am. Or he’s pretty damn sure. And he’s really fucking pissed, based on the vibes he’s throwing my way.