The wrinkles deepen for two seconds before realization ghosts along her face. “Oh my god!” She jumps back, dropping her T-shirt like it stung her. “You jerked off on my shirt? Who does that? What is wrong with you? Eww …” She jumps in a circle shaking out her hands. “Gross!”

Swarley barks from inside the tent.

Leaning back to enjoy the show, I untwist the cap from my water and take a long swig. As her energy wears off, she levels me with a death glare. An hour ago, I had condoms on my list of things to pick up in town tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll need them after all.

“Come here.” I draw out the word come because she brings out the evil side of me.

“Fuck you.”

I shake my bottled water.

Avery scowls. After the steam stops flowing from her nostrils, she holds out her hands. I pour some water onto them while she performs a surgical scrub.

“Some women swallow it.”

“Water?”

I glance up at her, lifting an eyebrow. Okay, she’s not as smart as I thought.

“Oh.” She rolls her eyes, drying her hands on her sweatshirt. “Why are you so mean to me?”

“Mean? You think I’m mean?”

“I don’t think chasing me in a grocery store parking lot, calling me a bitch, ruining my shirt, saying I’m bad at sex, and then teasing me about it is exactly what I’d call nice.”

My lips twist to the side while I inspect this insecure mess of a woman before me. “Maybe I’m just flirting with you.”

“That’s not flirting.”

“No? Then what do you call flirting?”

She shoves her hands into the hoodie’s pockets and shrugs. “Compliments. Flowers. Chocolates. Jewelry.”

“Sounds like ass kissing to get into your pants.”

Avery tips up her chin. “You could learn a few things from men who do that.”

I laugh. “Avery, Avery, Avery … I ruined your shirt, called you a bitch, and suggested you’re shit at sex. Yet, in the next breath I had two fingers shoved in your … vagina.” I wink.

Heat crawls up her neck. I’m not a jerk. Really, I’m not. But Avery is one messed-up chick, and I feel like putting her in her place isn’t a bad thing. She might not thank me now. In fact, I predict her hand making another shot for my face. But some day … she might thank me when she finds a guy who doesn’t treat her like a doormat, because she demands respect that can’t be bought with elaborate gifts and her self-esteem reaches deeper than fake eyelashes and designer clothes.

“Don’t touch me again. EVER!” She disappears into the tent.

“Good job, Ave. Stand the fuck up for yourself.”

Chapter Twelve

Avery