My jaw unhinges. “You are so full of yourself. I was not looking at any part of you, especially your ugly, stinky feet.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But if I had been looking at your fungus-infected feet, how would you have known since you were sleeping?”

“It’s hard to sleep when you keep telling me to wake up.”

A gasp catches in my throat. “You bastard! If you were awake, why didn’t you answer me?”

I hate his grin.

Stupid, stupid grin. I don’t care how white his smile happens to be, it’s a terrible grin.

I hate the way his eyes smile. Yep, smiling eyes. I bet it’s an early sign of something like … foot fungus or erectile dysfunction.

“As we speak, mosquitoes are buzzing around us, but I don’t acknowledge them. I’m aware of their pesky little buzzing, but I’m not going to let them ruin my trip or keep me from sleeping.”

“Oh … my … god … Are you comparing me to a bloodsucking insect?”

“If the overpriced shoe fits …” He’s grinning like …

Gah!

I don’t really know what his grin resembles. It’s mocking, flirty, devious, and incredibly infuriating because he only smiles like that when he’s poking fun at me.

“You didn’t answer my question.” I plant my hands on my hips.

He shines the flashlight in my face. “What question was that?”

I flinch, backing away from him and the smell of the shithole behind us. “What do you say to a woman to get into her pants?”

His lips purse. “I ask them if they want to smell my underwear.”

Before my mouth falls into yet another offended gasp, I grit my teeth and formulate … something.

What? I’m not sure. I have skills. I just need to use them to my benefit. Sadly my guy-skills involve a lot of flirting and … other bodily exchanges.

Forcing my jaw to relax, I plaster on my best smile—the one that gets me all kinds of things from men who have posed a bigger challenge than Mr. Kale Salad.

“I bet they do.” I bite my bottom lip, closing the distance between us. Running my fingernail down his defined chest, I trace some of his ink before teasing the waistband to his boxer briefs peeking above his low riding shorts. His abs tighten even more. “I bet they want to smell every inch of you.”

“Avery,” he warns in a gritty voice.

I slip my fingernail just under the waistband, giving it a teasing tug while shifting my gaze to meet his hooded eyes.

Shit … I swallow back the saliva pooling in my mouth. I’m falling apart in the middle of my one chance to take the lead—get the upper hand. I’m turning myself on as much as him. His cock is waking up, but dammit if I’m not feeling my own arousal tingling between my legs.