Flirt With Me

by Kristen Proby

  He cups my face, tugs the lip I didn’t know I was biting out of my teeth, and swoops down to kiss me.

  It’s the kind of kiss that reaches down and makes a girl’s knees weak.

  He’s surprisingly gentle but in control.

  Determined.

  And when he pulls back, he presses those talented lips to my forehead once more.

  “Have a good week, Mr. Meyers.”

  “Hunter.” He tips my chin up and grins down at me. “My name is Hunter, Maeve.” He winks and then walks away again.

  “Thursday,” he tosses over his shoulder, and then the door closes behind him.

  “Whoa.” I press my fingertips to my lips and lean on the kitchen counter. “Holy hell, the man can kiss.”

  I make my way through the house, turning off lights and making sure the doors and windows are locked.

  I love this home. I have since it was built about ten years ago. I’ve daydreamed about it.

  And then, last Christmas, I was invited to a cookie exchange here with some friends and got to tour the inside.

  It’s everything I always dreamed of and more. That view off the back of the property is what every fiction writer thinks of when crafting a story full of intrigue and mystery.

  There should be ghosts walking these cliffs.

  Perhaps that’s just my Irish roots talking.

  “You have other things to do today,” I remind myself. There’s no time for dillydallying in someone else’s house.

  The truth is, I could ask my oldest brother, Kane, for a loan for what I need to buy this house, and he’d give it to me in a heartbeat.

  But I don’t think it’s right to ask for help with this sort of thing. I’ll earn it. And, chances are, the house won’t sell before I’m ready to buy anyway.

  I close and lock the front door, climb into my car, and take off toward my house. I have just enough time to have a snack before my showing this afternoon.

  I have no time for thinking about a man named Hunter, who makes me think about all kinds of sexy things.

  “You need more creamer,” Maggie, my only sister, says as she rinses the carton and tosses it into the recycling bin. “You’ve been really moody this week.”

  “I have not.” I frown at her as she brings her cup of coffee to the table and sits with me. She arrived on my doorstep this morning with fresh cinnamon rolls.

  Because Maggie and I often work evenings at the pub, breakfasts are our best time to catch up.

  “You’re not usually moody,” she continues. “So something must be up. What’s going on? Does it have anything to do with the hot boxer that came into the pub and made googly eyes at you?”

  “First of all, he’s not a boxer. He’s a former MMA fighter. Second of all, he didn’t make googly eyes at me.”

  Except, he totally did.

  “You weren’t watching from where I was,” she says. “Trust me. His eyes were googly.”

  I won’t even mention that his mouth was warm and soft on mine. Maggie would take that information and run with it in directions I’m not even willing to entertain.

  “Are we going to the cemetery today?”

  My sister scowls. “Why in the hell would we do that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because this is the second anniversary of your husband’s death. I mean, shouldn’t we take flowers or something?”

  “Are you drunk?” She scoffs and takes a bite of her breakfast. “Hell, no. He was a lying, cheating piece of shit. The only reason I’d go to his grave is to spit on it.”

  “But you’re not bitter or anything.” I laugh as she glares at me. “Okay, I get it. I just didn’t know how you’d handle it.”

  “With coffee and sugar. And with you.” She shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve moved on from all of that, thank God.”

  “With Cameron?” I feel my lips twitch, but then her eyes fill with tears, and I suddenly feel like a complete jerk. “Whoa, what happened with Cameron?”

  “Nothing.” She wipes a tear. “It’s so dumb. And you keep changing the subject, which is really annoying. Tell me about the hot fighter.”

  “I don’t know much about him,” I insist. “He’s from Seattle, has a kid, drives the most expensive car I’ve ever seen in person in my life, and kisses like the devil.”

  “Wait. Back it up. You kissed him?”

  “I wasn’t going to tell you that part, but you cried, and I needed to give you something to cheer you up.”

  “You kissed him.”

  “Actually, he kissed me. It was nice.”

  “How nice?”

  I frown.

  “Was it nice enough to do it again?”

  “He’s a client—”

  “Oh, please.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “Don’t pull that on me. We all know you’re professional and blah blah blah. But are you going to do the hot guy?”

  “You’re so romantic.”

  She just watches me, waiting for an answer.

  “He hasn’t asked me to do him.”

  Still, Maggie watches without her face changing.

  “He’s so…”—I wave my hand in the air—“cocky. I don’t know what to do with that.”

  “You have three brothers, all of whom are cocky.”

  “Not like this.”

  My phone pings at my elbow, and I look down to see a text from Hunter.

  Hunter: I found some other houses I’d like to see this weekend. I’m sending links.

  Me: Sounds good.

  “Is he flirting with you?”

  “No, he’s just telling me that he found some other houses to look at.”

  But my phone pings with another message.

  Hunter: Let’s have lunch before we start on Thursday.

  I grin but reply with: I can’t.

  I set the phone aside and stare at my sister, who’s just watching me with smug green eyes.

  “What?”

  “You’d totally do him.”

  My phone pings once more, and when I open the message, it’s a selfie of Hunter, pouting. Then another text comes through.

  Hunter: Please?

  I laugh and reply.

  Me: Pouting doesn’t work on me. But I guess I can shift my calendar. You’re buying.

  “Okay, let’s be honest here,” Maggie says. “You like him. You should see the dumb look on your face right now.”

  “You’re so sweet, Mary Margaret.”

  “I think it’s nice,” she insists. “But be careful with this one because he’s super famous and probably has a legion of girls he’s left behind.”

  “He has a kid.”

  She nods. “Yeah, I Googled him. Read the Wiki. She’s only fifteen. I mean, do you want to be a stepmom?”

  “He’s literally only a client right now,” I remind us both. “No one has said a word about sex or being a damn stepmom. I might sell him a house, that’s it. End of discussion.”

  “Except you kissed him.”

  “Do I have to marry every man who kisses me? Because if so, I’d have to marry Clifford Buckley from the eighth grade.”

  “And that would be unfortunate because poor Cliff doesn’t look so hot these days.”

  “So, he has a fifteen-year-old daughter,” I murmur and sip my coffee. “I wonder what the story is there.”

  Maggie looks like she’s about to spew a bunch of information, but I hold up my hand, stopping her.

  “No. It’s none of my business. And if it ever becomes my business, I want to hear it from him. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She props her chin on her hand. “When’s he coming back?”

  “This week. I don’t even know if he’ll buy something. Maybe he’s just one of those lookie-loos who want to see everything but then decides to go elsewhere.”

  “That would be annoying.”

  “Happens more than you think.”

  I sigh, and my phone pings again.

  Hunter: I managed to get away tomorrow afternoon rather than Thursday. Does that work for y
ou?

  I grin. Today’s Tuesday. It’s only a day early if he comes tomorrow.

  But I’m excited to see him again.

  Still, I don’t want to seem too eager.

  Me: I can shuffle some things around for you.

  I watch the three dots dance on my screen.

  Hunter: I’ll see you tomorrow. Dinner?

  Me: I really can’t. And don’t pout. I have to work.

  There’s no reply, and I can’t help but grin when I set my phone aside.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” Maggie says, catching my attention.

  “Like what?”

  “With little hearts bursting above your head. You’re not usually one to crush on someone.”

  “Maybe I just don’t tell you about it when I do.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “No, you’d tell me. I hope this guy doesn’t turn out to be a jerk and a half.”

  “Maybe just three-quarters of a jerk.”

  Maggie smirks. “That would be less than most guys.”

  “You know, Cameron’s always been a nice guy, Mags. What in the world did he do to you now?”

  “It’s not that he did anything,” she admits. “He’s not a bad guy.”

  “Then why are you miserable?”

  “Because he’s done nothing at all,” she repeats. “And it’s damn annoying.”

  “Maybe you need to light a fire under his ass.”

  She doesn’t say anything for a long minute and then shrugs one shoulder. “You know, just once, I’d like to be the priority without asking to be. I want him to choose me. Not because I ask him to but because he wants to. I want to feel important.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not a mind reader.”

  “And that’s the worst part. Because if he doesn’t just instinctively want to be with me, to make me the number-one spot in his life, then there’s no room for me at all. I’ll never be with someone who loves everything else in his life more than me again. I can’t do it, Maeve.”

  “No.” I reach over and link my fingers with hers. “No, you can’t. You’re right. When was the last time you spoke with him?”

  “It’s been a few weeks.” She shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

  But I know it is.

  “I might go on a date with someone else.”

  I blink quickly, surprised. “Who?”

  “I don’t know yet. I have to figure that part out.”

  “Good for you.” I squeeze her hand and then let go. “Go get them.”

  Chapter 4

  ~Hunter~

  I’ve spent the better part of the last two days with her. She’s shown me six more homes, including the one we’re in now, and last night, I spent several hours at the pub where I nursed one beer, ate my weight in that amazing stew, and took it all in.

  Took her in. I can’t get enough of the way Maeve laughs, of the way she moves. Hell, I was only away from her for a couple of days and I missed her.

  Not to mention, I like what I’ve seen of Maeve’s family business.

  I’m close to my parents and am grateful to have them close by. But I’m an only child, so watching the O’Callaghans and the way they interact, how they work together, has been an education.

  “I didn’t realize until he came into the pub last night that Kane O’Callaghan is your brother,” I say as I glance at another kitchen. “I have a few pieces of his glass in my home. Bought them at a charity thing a few years ago.”

  She grins in that proud way she does when she thinks of her family. Her smile lights up any room. Yeah, it’s cliché, and no, I don’t give a rat’s ass.

  “That’s awesome,” she says. “Yeah, Kane’s the only one of us who doesn’t put some time in at the pub. But he’s always in his glass barn, making something new, or traveling, or just enjoying his wife and their son. The pub was never for him, and that’s okay. He comes in from time to time to look in on us all.”

  “And your parents?”

  “They’re in Ireland right now,” she says. “But are headed this way in a few days because Izzy’s about to have that baby any moment, and they wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

  “You’re a tight family.”

  She nods slowly. “When we came here from Ireland, we were all each other had. It was us against the rest of the world, so to speak. It helped that we all speak English. But, of course, with thick accents, we were still outsiders.”

  “You don’t have much of an accent,” I point out, itching to touch her. To pull her to me. To kiss the hell out of her.

  I simply brush her thick, soft hair behind her shoulder.

  “No, I was pretty young when we moved here. Kane and Keegan have the strongest accents. Mine comes and goes—if I’m angry, especially. Sometimes, I turn it up at the pub just for fun.”

  I smile and watch her walk to the windows that look out at the ocean. She does that in every house we see. Stands by the windows or on a balcony, staring out at the water like she’s drawn to it.

  “Do you live on the waterfront?” I ask, wanting to know more about her.

  “No.” That’s it. No explanation. And before I can ask, she turns to me and props her hands on her hips. “Okay, Hunter, this is it. The very last house for sale on this island that has a water view, is move-in ready, and fits most of what you asked for.”

  “We’ve seen a lot this past week,” I agree with a nod. But it’s not enough, because this means that I can’t use it as an excuse to see her anymore.

  “I’m going to be blunt.”

  “By all means.”

  “Are you actually going to buy something? Or are you a lookie-loo just wasting my time?”

  “A lookie-loo?”

  “You know…” She sighs and rubs her fingers on her forehead in either frustration or fatigue. Either way, I don’t like it. And the thought of her stress being because of me makes me even less happy about it. “Someone who wants to see everything but has no interest in actually buying. Because that’s just a waste of my time—and yours. Both of our time is valuable.”

  “I’m not a lookie-loo.” I shove my hands into my pockets so I don’t reach out for her, hug her to me, and try to calm the nerves I see humming just beneath the surface. I keep my distance. Because although she’s been nothing but nice since I got here, we haven’t been flirting the way we were a couple of days ago.

  And it’s damn frustrating.

  “I knew the second we walked into that house on Sunday, the one I showed you on my phone the day before, that it was the one I want.”

  “Then, why—?”

  “I wanted to keep seeing you,” I continue, interrupting her. “You won’t let me take you out for dinner, so I kept looking at houses with you. I just wanted to be with you.”

  Her mouth opens as if she wants to say something, but she closes it again.

  “I’m not in the habit of being interested enough in someone to make this kind of effort, if we’re being completely honest. Not in a very long time, anyway.”

  She frowns. “You’ve been looking at houses just to hang out with me?”

  “Yeah.” I swallow. “When you put it like that, it sounds a little desperate. Don’t call the press with that info, okay?”

  She takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then chuckles. “Well, I guess I’ll get the paperwork started on the other place. Do you know how much you want to offer?”

  “What’s the price of it again?”

  She tells me, and I nod, thinking it over. “Let’s add fifty thousand to the asking price and seal the deal. If I can take ownership in the next couple of weeks, that would be even better.”

  She blinks, pulls her phone out of her purse, and makes some notes. “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Meyers.”

  I tip my head to the side, watching her. “Hunter. My name is Hunter.”

  “Of course. Shall we go, then? I’ll get the papers ready for you to sign this afternoon, and I’ll start making some calls.”

  I don
’t know where the sudden cold shoulder is coming from, but I don’t like it. “What’s wrong?”

  “What? Oh, nothing. I just want to get this all wrapped up for you.”

  “No, something’s wrong. You just went cold on me.”

  She shakes her head and tries to look innocent.

  It doesn’t work.

  “Maeve.”

  “You should have just told me on Sunday that you wanted m—the house. Your offer likely would have been accepted by now.”

  “I told you, I wanted to see you.”

  “You’re playing a game.” Her voice is harder now. Jesus, are those tears in her eyes? “I don’t have time for games. I’m a busy woman with responsibilities, and while it’s flattering that you wanted to see me, it’s just…not fair.”

  “Not fair?”

  “No. Not fair. Anyway, I’ll get paperwork drawn up for your signature and put the offer in. I’ll have it ready for you in a couple of hours.”

  “Maeve,” I say after she starts stalking to the front door, her heels clicking on the hardwood. “Wait.”

  “Like I said, I’m busy.”

  “Damn it, Maeve O’Callaghan, wait just a goddamn minute.” I catch up to her and tug on her arm, mortified that there are tears in her eyes. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Don’t call me honey.” She swipes angrily at the tears and shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  “I’m fine. I just need to be alone, that’s all. I have to go.”

  “Maeve.” I can’t stand it. I turn her to me, pull her against me, and bury my lips in her hair, holding her gently. “Talk to me. If you don’t tell me what I did wrong, I can’t fix it.”

  She clings to me for a moment, her hands fisting in my shirt near my waist. Her forehead rests on my chest.

  But rather than lean into me, she pulls back.

  “There’s nothing to fix. I’m being stupid, and I apologize for being emotional.”

  “Do you really hate the house that much? I know you tried to talk me out of it when we were there, but—”

  “It’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen in my life,” she interrupts, and her bottom lip wobbles. “I don’t hate it at all. I must just have something in my eye. It’s ridiculous.”