Trust Me: Matty and Kayla, Book 1 of 3 (The McDaniels Brothers) Read Free Page B

as a manager, but I already have a trainer. Thanks for the tip though."
    He drained his glass and then set it on the bar with a clack .
    One step forward, one step back. It was like the world’s most frustrating line dance.
    I plucked a worn menu from its metal holder with a sigh of resignation. Clearly, it was going to take a while for the two of us to work through the animosity, so I might as well keep my strength up. No point in me doing exactly what I'd accused him of and cutting off my nose to spite my face. After glancing at the list of eighties-themed selections, I called to the bartender.
    "I'll take the Tide Is High Fish and Chips basket."
    “Excellent choice.” Matty grinned and jerked his head toward the menu. "And here I thought you were some sort of health nut."
    I wrinkled my brows at him and snorted. "What would make you think that? I'm not the one training for a fight. If I was, it would be another story."
    “You don’t have to worry about me. You worry about booking the bouts, I’ll worry about making sure I’m ready, okay?"
    Although the words were pointed, the tone wasn’t. In fact, he seemed to be trying to reassure me. I took it as a good sign. We seemed to have come to an uneasy truce for the time being, so I went with it.
    “So this is your hangout, huh?" I asked, taking a second, now that I was feeling less ragey, to check out the kitschy decor.
    A jukebox lit with jewel-toned, multi-colored lights stood in the corner with the last notes of what I was pretty sure was a Pat Benatar song pouring through the speaker. The entire back wall was lined with old time arcade games. Everything from Frogger and Pac-Man to Asteroids and Space Invaders. I wasn't about to admit it to him, but the place was already growing on me a little. If I'd found it on my own when I was wearing a pair of jeans and my threadbare Ramones T-shirt, I'd have felt pretty at home here. “Doesn’t seem like your type of bar.”
    “What would be my type of bar?” he asked, tilting his head to skewer me with that laser pointer gaze again.
    I cleared my throat and took a sip of the icy beverage our bartender had dropped off. “Hooters?”
    His laugh was loud and unexpected and I found myself grinning in response.
    “Hooters is overrated,” he said. “The wings here are a thousand times better. I come for the food and the video games. Helps me unwind.” He motioned to the bank of arcade games. “Want to play?”
    "Play what?"
    "Any one you want. I have high score on those three." He gestured toward a row around the corner of what looked like fighting games. “So maybe pick something else.”
    "High score, huh?" I hadn’t grown up around a lot of video games, but I was technically inclined and a fast learner.
    Might be fun.
    Not that this was about fun. But still, taking a few minutes to try to connect with him a little couldn't hurt, could it?
    "Sure, let's play that one."
    He glanced in the direction I was pointing and grinned. “Street Brawler 2? Bad choice. It’s my best game.”
    I stood and slipped off my neat little blazer, tossing it over the back of my chair. "Oh, I’m so scared."
    He paused for a second, hot gaze dropping from my face down to my camisole and back up again. A bolt of electricity arced between us and I almost snatched the jacket up again to cover myself.
    Why did that keep happening? He’d warned me that being in close proximity a lot would distract him, but I was sure that would fade with time. I was also sure that, if there was any true attraction going forward, it would be one-sided. After all, how long could a girl be attracted to a cocky, argumentative, surly pain in the ass?
    Apparently, at least four days, because my nipples went stiff under the weight of his stare and my pulse was skittering wildly.
    He shook his head, seeming to collect himself and then, with out a word, he stood. "Hey Bob, give us a yell when our food's ready," he called to the bartender as he crossed over to the