During my travels, I met plenty of hot women ready and willing to rock my world. Willing isn’t even the right word. They were desperate to fuck me. It isn’t arrogance that makes me say that. It’s the truth. They knew who I was and did their best to be the girl who would blow me so away I would take them with me. Same old story for the past eight years. Fame equals dick chasers.

Pushing the mower, I think back on all those women. God, some of them really did rock my world. The things they let me do, that they did to me, were unreal—as close to a high as I could get when not on stage. But it always ended as soon as my dick went limp. Eventually, sex with groupies became almost another form of masturbation. The excitement had long since faded. No matter how good a chick’s technique, she never saw me as anything other than a means to an end. And those girls never expressed an opinion that contradicted my needs. I could send in a roadie, tell the groupies he was part of the band, and they’d fuck him raw too.

I used those women just like they used me. Pump, dump, and go. Soulless encounters.

Is that what Jax felt? Soulless? Off kilter?

For the first time in years, I feel like I’m walking on solid ground. And I’m doing nothing more than yardwork. Libby gave me the side-eye when I asked to do more, and I made a joke out of it. But I was completely serious. I feel good. I want more of that— more of knowing I’m as normal and human as the rest of the world.

Pulling my shirt from where it’s tucked in my back pocket, I wipe the sweat from my brow and head for the big barn-like garage at the back of the property. The lawn is done. It’s not perfect—my lines are slightly askew.

I’m stretching out my shoulders when Libby appears on the back stoop. She’s holding two tall, icy glasses of lemonade. She meets me halfway, and I barely get out a heartfelt “thanks” before I’m gulping my drink down. Cold. Fresh. Perfect.

I’m beginning to think this girl will never give me anything that isn’t fucking sublime. Then I catch a glimpse inside the shed and nearly choke on my last mouthful of lemonade.

“You have a ride-on mower,” I get out while sputtering on my drink and glaring at the John Deere that would have cut my work time to less than an hour.

Liberty, the little she-devil, just shrugs, taking a dainty sip of her lemonade. “Would Mr. Miyagi have let Daniel-san use a power sander? I think not.”

She lets out a surprisingly girlish squeal when I launch myself at her, catching her around the middle, and haul her onto my shoulder.

“You spilled my drink, fuck face,” she shouts, but she’s laughing.

Thank God. Because I really didn’t think about the consequences when I acted. I rarely do. But I don’t want to piss her off or freak her out. Grinning wildly, I spin her in a circle and give her juicy ass a slap.

She really squeals then, her feet kicking at my thighs, her hands beating my butt. “You will die for that, mister.”

“Might as well enjoy myself then,” I shout over her protests and slap her ass again. Jesus. I need to stop because now I want to grab her round, firm butt and give it a squeeze. Maybe slip my fingers in between the crack and… Down, boy.

I’d blame the heat and my lack of sex life, but I’m not sure. There’s something oddly appealing about prickly but oh-so-plush Libby.

Reluctantly, I set her down and brace myself to be nutted. She swats my arm instead, her face red as one of her tomatoes.

“Jerk,” she says without heat. “I have a total head rush now.”

“Ah, those are the best.” Before she can totter, I touch her elbow just enough to steady her. Now that she’s not in my arms, I’m oddly hesitant to make contact again. Only yesterday we were at each other’s throats. And now I want to touch her as many times as she’ll let me.

“You’re crazy pants, you know that?” Her scowl is kind of cute.

“I’ve been told as much on occasion.”

“Not surprising.” Libby rakes her fingers through her hair, and the sun glints off the strands. “I was going to offer to take you to the beach—”

“We’re going.” I try to grab her hand but she evades me this time.

“I don’t know…”

“Liberty,” I warn. “Don’t make me toss you over my shoulder and haul your little ass there.”

“Yeah, right. I bet you’re all bark too, buddy.”

I step close, so quick that I neatly pin her to the side of the shed. We’re not actually touching but she goes still anyway. I take advantage and lean in until our noses nearly bump. “Oh, I bite, babe. But you’ll like it.”

It then occurs to me what I’m doing. And that she smells like sunshine and lemons and brown sugar. Alarms start going off in my head, shouting danger and step the fuck back. But I can’t stop myself from looking at her lips. Mistake. Big fucking mistake.

They’re pink and soft and parted, as if waiting to be taken. Heat surges to my cock, and I have to physically brace against the urge to thrust my hips forward. What the fuck? I’m losing it.

Proof that this is a bad idea comes by way of Libby pressing those pretty lips together. “I bite back, Kill, and you won’t like it.”

I give her a big, fake-ass smile. “So you say. Now get your suit on or I’ll bug the shit out of you all day.”

She rolls her eyes but thankfully turns toward the house. “I’ll pack a lunch.”

God, she’s gonna feed me. I’d like this girl just for that. But I’ve got to hold myself together. Because she’s not the type to fool around with. Any guy with half a brain can see that. She might be hard on the outside, but it feels more like a brittle shell. Christ, she reminds me of Jax in that way. The thought cools me. Maybe I should tell her to forget the whole thing and just go by myself.

But then she pops her head back out the door. “Get in here. I got stuff for you to haul.”

Like that, I’m hooked again. There’s just something about her I can’t ignore. I push off the side of the shed and bound to the stairs. “As long as you don’t forget lunch, I’m all yours, Miss Bell.”

Libby

The swath of beach near the house is narrow, butting up against wild dunes. I set up my blanket, umbrella, and chair while Killian looks on, as if perplexed.

“It’s like you’re getting ready to camp,” he tells me when I take the cooler from his hand and plunk it in the shade behind my beach chair. “You gonna pull out an air mattress next? The kitchen sink?”