Girls' Night Out (Bad Boys) Read Free Page B

him scrambling in moves he’d not put into use since the Devils played hard defensive ball on the field three weeks ago and nearly took out his rotator cuff.
    He could tell in a split-second, this spitfire was a down-home cowgirl all the way from the heart of Texas. A filly who’d been born and bred to rule a man. By instinct, his reaction was to fall in line, but then his past caught up with him, and a slew of alarm bells went off. Loudly. The hazard lights flashed brighter when he suddenly wondered if she was even twenty-one yet. Oh, brother, from all directions a shrill warning sounded, signaling him to get the heck away from this girl… now .
    A year or so ago, he’d been engaged and on his way to wedded bliss until his fiancée had decided otherwise—along with his buddy. Now, he had an ex-fiancée and an ex-friend. The woman in front of him had a prickling quality he’d avoided since all hell broke loose in his personal life. He preferred hassle-free hookups and fought to stay clear of entangling situations, on and off the field. There was only one thing to do and that was to say adios . He’d go his way and she could go hers.
    Right , he exhaled, preparing to get back to reviewing a sponsor’s offer when he looked down at the Bruins logo on the rhinestone-encrusted lanyard attached to an identification badge at the end.
    Brett flipped over the ID badge and asked, “UCLA? You go there?”
    “Since that’s my photograph, and the date is current, and I’m carting it about, chances are I’m enrolled.”
    Her sass drew his attention down to her pink, wet mouth and his skin tightened as he thought of ways to curb her barbed tongue. He stopped staring, feeling himself grow erect, and looked down at her ID. He read her name. Corinth Hera McLemore .
    “In the school of marketing.” He started to laugh. Really hard. So hard that he leaned over to grab the side of the seat.
    “It’s not funny. You’ve got some gall. Hand it over.”
    “This is the first time I’ve met someone perfect for school. I mean that sincerely…you know, as a compliment.” Brett lifted his hands and bit his lip. “Here, wildcat, before you start spitting and clawing again.”
    “And you have no part in that, of course.” A blush stole over her as she reached out toward her badge and he pulled back, wanting to bring her closer. God, she smelled amazing, like soap and the outdoors back home. Fresh flowers came to mind—a scent utterly feminine and he inhaled again.
    “Whoa,” he whispered, unsure of this odd sensation that made him want to school her good. It wasn’t the first time. Back in the corridor, when they’d bumped, he had the distinct impression he needed to... damn, he didn’t even have words for the sensation other than guard her.
    “That’s mine.” Miss McLemore raised her eyes to his hand lifted high above his head. She was a shade of innocent he’d not seen in years.
    His throat constricted, strangling his voice into a serrated croak. “Your mother would be less than pleased at how you’ve forgotten your manners. Again.”
    Her blue eyes darkened and her brows pulled together. “And a gentleman never publicly embarrasses a lady. So dude… I. Guess. We’re. Even.” She popped upward, a cork flying from an expensive champagne bottle. “Thank you. Now, give it back.”
    She reached, grazing over his bandaged right hand.
    “Sorry,” she said as she gently held his fingers. “What happened to your knuckles?”
    “Nothing much,” he said softly.
    His busted knuckles didn’t hurt anymore. It was the newspapers that featured the story of how he’d gotten drunk and ended up in a bar brawl that irritated him. It stung when his mom asked about it, but not as sharp as the sting from this little wildcat in front of him.
    Dressed in a clinging skirt, her legs were in plain view to him as he kneeled in front of her. His gaze traveled down her long as hell limbs until he got to her high-wire height heels. God,