Feeling Hot (Out of Uniform Book 3)(9)

By: Elle Kennedy


“I’ll call,” he promised. A grin lifted his lips. “I think we’d be doing each other a disservice if we didn’t finish what we started.”

She pursed her lips for a moment, indecision creasing her beautiful features. After a beat, she reached into her purse and rummaged around, pulling out a scrap of paper and a pen. He watched the dainty movements of her hand as she scribbled something, and resisted doing a little victory dance.

Clicking her pen, she walked over and handed him the paper. “Here.”

Cash glanced at the phone number, wincing when he saw that she’d also scrawled her name on the paper. Jeez, he really was a manwhore, huh? Getting the woman’s name after he nearly slept with her.

“Jen,” he said sheepishly. “Nice to meet you, Jen.”

“Pleasure was all mine, cowboy.” That cute blush returned to her flawless cheeks. “So, um, yeah, call me.”

With that, she strolled out of the room, leaving him grinning like a goofy idiot. Damn, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

Cash waited a few seconds before exiting the coatroom. Thankfully, the navy groupie didn’t pop out of nowhere and ambush him.

He found himself whistling softly as he left the bar. He clutched Jen’s phone number in his hand like it was a trophy, wishing they’d finished what they’d started but at the same time happy they hadn’t settled for a hurried lay in a public bar. He wanted more than a fully clothed quickie. He wanted her naked in his bed, while his mouth and hands and cock explored every inch of her X-rated body.

So yeah, he’d left the house with a hard-on and would be going home with one, but surely he could survive one more day. First thing tomorrow, he’d call Jen and arrange for a repeat performance of tonight—one that wouldn’t get interrupted.

Feeling rejuvenated, he strode down the sidewalk with a spring to his step. It was raining, but the cool droplets sliding down his face didn’t dampen his mood. Neither did the sudden downpour that soaked him to the bone by the time he reached his Ford Escape. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun with a woman.

He clicked the key remote to unlock the SUV, slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As he flicked on the windshield wipers, he tossed the crumpled paper with Jen’s number in the cup holder, still grinning to himself.

His good mood followed him all the way to the apartment complex.

But it didn’t last.

Nope, because after he’d parked the car and reached for the paper to smooth it out, he realized that the rain had done more than drench his clothes—it had smeared all the ink on that important scrap of paper. Transformed it from a phone number to a streaky smudge of black that resembled a damn Rorschach test.

Jen’s number was gone.

And so was any chance of seeing her again.





CHAPTER THREE





“Not one word,” Jennifer Scott announced as she and her brother entered her apartment.

Carson followed her to the living room, stood in front of her secondhand plaid-patterned couch and opened his mouth.

“Not. One. Word,” she growled.

He must have sensed she meant business, because after a moment he lowered his six-foot frame on the sofa and sighed. But he didn’t speak. Nope, he just sat there and watched her pace like a madwoman.

“I know you think I’m a screw-up, but this isn’t my fault,” she muttered as she made tracks in the frayed blue carpet. “Do you think I enjoy being stalked? I had no idea Brendan was a maniac, okay? He didn’t exactly advertise that on our first date—‘Hey, guess what, Jen, I’m actually a clingy nut job.’” She huffed out a miserable breath. “He seemed like a good guy, Carson. A normal investment banker who bought his mother a locket for her birthday—a heart-shaped locket. And he put both their pictures in it! It was the sweetest thing ever.”

Carson opened his mouth again but she whipped up her hand to silence him.

“Yeah, I know. He probably goes around the city to various jewelry stores and buys hundreds of lockets to lure unsuspecting salesgirls into going out with him. I guess I’m just a gullible idiot, right?”

“Jenny—”

“And please don’t lecture me about losing my job at Arnold’s. I know I can’t claim to be the poster child for holding a job, but this time it wasn’t my fault. Brendan showed up and caused a scene. I’m not sure I even blame Mr. Arnold for firing me. I wouldn’t want a crazy person frequenting my place of business either.”

“Jenny—”

“So fine, Carson, you’re right. I’m a screw-up. I got involved with a lunatic and I’m unsuccessful in life. Just get it over with and have me committed or something.”

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