Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy #1) - Lauren Rowe Page 0,45

for you. Let me bribe you, sexy Georgina. I promise you’ll like giving me your end of the bargain.”

My traitorous clit pulses again. This time, thanks to the look of molten lust on Reed’s face. There’s no way I’d say yes to him, obviously—let alone yes, yes, yes. But I can’t deny my body wants to, even in the midst of my mind’s rage and disgust.

But before I’ve said a word, I’m saved by the bell. Or, rather, by the blinding headlights of my Uber shining onto Reed’s chiseled face.

“Perfect timing,” I say smugly, turning away from Reed. “Ciao, stronzo.”

I wave to the driver on the other side of the gate to let him know I’m coming, but Reed grabs my shoulder.

“Tell him to leave,” Reed commands, his voice brimming with intensity. “Come inside with me and play me the demo. Let me show you what your body can do, Georgie.”

I whirl back around. “I already know what my body can do. You wanna see?” Glowering at him, I flip him the bird with both hands. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Reed leans against the gatepost and chuckles. “Wow. Tell me how you really feel about me, baby.”

“There aren’t enough middle fingers in the world to tell you how I really feel about you, baby.”

He grimaces playfully. “So heartless.”

“It was never my ‘heart’ that felt attracted to you, so it’s not a big loss.”

“Tsk. So rude. You’ll catch more flies with honey. Didn’t your momma ever teach you that?”

No, she didn’t, asshole, because my mother is fucking dead. But if she were here, there’s no doubt in my mind my fiery, fabulous badass of a mother would be applauding me for flipping you off, ya big dick. In fact, she’d be flipping you off, right along with me. I don’t say any of that to Reed, of course, but it’s sure as hell what I’m thinking.

Wordlessly, I turn around and inspect the metal gate, my anger at an all-time high. First, this arrogant piece of shit tells me I’m “play-acting confidence in my mother’s heels,” and then he tells me my momma should have taught me to play nice in the face of flaming assholery? Well, fuck that. And fuck him. “How do I get through?” I yell, pounding on the iron gate with my palm. “Help me out of here or I’m gonna climb over this gate and fall on my ass, and then sue your ass for negligence and false imprisonment!”

Calmly, Reed slides a key into a lock on a pedestrian side gate, and I stomp through the opening without so much as a thank you. But when I reach the other side, I realize I can’t actually storm off without trying one last-gasp attempt at helping Alessandra. Even though, obviously, anything I say to Reed at this point will fall on deaf ears.

I turn around. “My stepsister’s name is Alessandra Tennison. Her Instagram handle is TheRealAllyT. She barely has any followers and no brother destined for the NFL. She’s just a shy, sweet, incredibly talented nineteen-year-old who’s finishing her sophomore year at The Berklee College of Music in Boston. Her father died a week after her eighth birthday, after going out for an early-morning jog and getting mowed down by a texting driver. And her happiness, her dreams, mean everything to me. A shit-ton more than any one-night stand with a manipulative, arrogant asshole.” With that, I whirl around, march to my Uber, and throw myself into the backseat.

“Georgina?” the driver says, per safety protocol.

“Yes. Please, go.”

As the car takes off, I steal one last look at Reed. He’s standing on the other side of his slatted gate, one of his forearms laid flush against it, and his forehead resting on his arm. His eyes are two hot coals, smoldering in the dim light of the nearby streetlamp. His dick is plainly bulging behind his pants. As hard as a rock, like he said earlier. And for a fleeting moment, I’m a bit pissed at my values, not to mention my Italian temper, for making me miss out on what was almost certainly going to be the hottest hate-sex of my life. He was planning to tie me to his bed posts? Holy hell.

As I stare at Reed from the backseat of the departing Uber, seriously questioning my life choices, my temper, and my penchant for sometimes missing the forest for the trees, Reed shoots me a clipped wave in farewell, his cocky body language shouting, It’s your loss, baby!