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And a scene is not what I need.

When she’s a few feet from where Pauly and I are sitting, I stand up with purpose, the chair grating against the tile floor, and I begin to walk right past her. She flashes her hand out and grabs my biceps in a move I’m not real thrilled with.

“We’re gonna settle this here and now, Pulitzer,” she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear her.

“There’s nothing to settle.” I raise my eyebrows at her before looking over my shoulder to Pauly. “You know where to find me if you need me.” With that, I shrug my arm out of her grasp and walk out of the room. She mutters my name followed by a curse, and a part of me loves that I’m just as frustrating to her as she is to me.

The door sticks at the rooftop, but I welcome the chance to exert a little physical force to shove it open since it’s either up here or the gym right now, and I’m sore from pushing myself too hard yesterday. What I’d give to go for a run. Feet hitting the ground as my eyes take in the world around me, but I’m a long ass way from San Diego and my favorite beach run along Highway 101.

Instead, I take the tarp off the mattress and take up residence in my spot just in time to watch the sun start to fall from the horizon. It slips ever so slowly as I try to ignore the nagging voices in my head telling me I’m being an ass. It’s so damn easy to be an asshole with her, though, because I don’t think I’ve ever met a more frustrating woman. Or a more beautiful one.

And that is saying a lot.

The scrape of the door to the rooftop jars me from my thoughts. I’m up and looking toward it in an instant. Goddamn it. The fucking woman is invading my every thought, and now she’s in the one private space I have here.

“Go away.” Those two words are all I have for her as I sit back down and try to ignore her. Her footsteps draw closer, but I shake my head, close my eyes, and then lean back on the wall behind me. I can guess she’s standing in front of me, giving me a nasty look when the scraping sound of her boots stops. “Just once I’d appreciate it if you’d follow directions.”

Her laugh falls deep and rich around me. “Wow. I was right.”

“Good for you.” When she doesn’t answer, I can’t help my curiosity. “Right about what?”

“How far that stick’s shoved up your ass.”

Then I hear the clink of glass against glass, and my eyes flash open. She’s standing in front of me, her body framed by the sunset’s colors blazing across the sky, with a bottle of Fireball and a glass in one hand while the other is at her hip.

She’s looking for a reaction, and I refuse to give her one. “It only seems to be there around you.” I shrug. “What can I say? You bring out the best in me.” I finally meet her gaze on the last word, and damn it to hell, she has this cute little smirk on her face like she knows my game.

“Here’s how we’re going to play this, Pulitzer,” Beaux says as she kneels down on the mattress beside me, glass still clinking like a cowbell in a warning that she’s here to stay. “I’m going to ask you a question, and if you refuse to answer it, you take a shot. Then my turn.”

I slide a glance in her direction and see that she’s leaning over, cleavage on display, as her proposition takes up real estate in my mind. Kind of ballsy on her end, and I like that. “We only get to ask the question once, right?” I need to make sure the rules of this game are clear before I agree, because in my line of thinking, she’ll ask the questions she wants to know the most first, I can take the shot, and by the time I’m drunk and a little looser in my responses, the most pertinent ones will be off the table.

Plus, I make a living asking questions and then re-asking them in a completely different way after they’ve been evaded. This shouldn’t be a problem for me.

“Agreed.” She finally sits with her back against the wall with a sound of satisfaction. “You can go first, since I’m sure your ego’s going to need nursing once I drink you under the table.”

I snort. The amusement in her tone told me she knows there’s not a chance in hell of that happening, but I respect that she can talk a good game.

“Thanks for the mulligan. What to ask… what to ask…” I make a production of coming up with something. “Where were you coming from that morning I met you in the stairwell?”

That’s most definitely not the question I had planned on asking, and it sure as hell isn’t any of my business, but the whole idea of her being with somebody else is driving me crazy. I stare at the night beyond us as the city begins to come alive, not wanting to see the look on her face and whether my question has surprised her. But the clink of the bottle’s neck against the glass gives me the only answer I need.

She clears her throat from the sting of the straight whiskey and blows out an audible breath. “Your turn. What really happened to Stella?”

Knew that one was coming. I reach over and take the bottle from her without so much as a word and toss back the shot, welcoming the burn.

“Beaux versus BJ. Which one and why?”

“I used BJ for work. It was easier to get my foot in the door if people thought I was a guy. Show them my portfolio via a Web site, reel them in, then meet them in person. It’s ass backward, but when you’re up against the good ’ol boys club, sometimes you have to do what it takes. Beaux is the real me.” Her voice softens, causing me to turn my head and watch her in the waning light. When she averts her gaze immediately, I’m intrigued. “Very few people get to know Beaux.”

Something about the way she says the last sentence tells me there’s more to the story.

“Beaux.” I murmur her name, and for the first time she doesn’t reject it coming off my lips. A part of me warms from the thought while the rest of me listens to those damn alarm bells ringing again. “Why do—,” I start to ask, but she immediately reaches up and puts her finger against my lips. Her touch causes my body to stand to attention, my instincts warring with that first shot beginning to hum through my bloodstream.

“Be warned. Asking a follow-up question out of turn earns you another shot.” She moves her finger away just in time for me to speak.

“You’re changing the rules on me now that we’ve already started? I have a feeling you don’t play very fair.”

A smile plays at the corner of her mouth momentarily, and it takes a whole helluva lot for me to tear my eyes from those lips of hers. “There’s no such thing as playing fair. Besides, playing dirty is a whole lot more fun,” she murmurs, the suggestion in her voice as clear as damn day. “So what does your wife think about all of this?”

Her question takes me completely off guard and has me sputtering out a laugh. I swear she just mentioned playing dirty to throw me off track. “What in the fuck are you talking about?” There’s nothing I can do but shake my head and stare at her like she’s lost her damn mind.

She shrugs innocently enough. “It’s the quickest way to know the truth. I thought maybe the stick up your ass was because you were feeling guilty about your wife back home, and so I just figured I’d ask… but now I have to keep trying to figure out why it’s there.”