Playing Dirty. Taryn Leigh Taylor

a bitch,” he said simply, punctuating the words with a toilet flush.

      She could relate. One of the reasons this bar gig suited her so well. Not that she was planning on keeping it. The second someone made an offer on her late father’s ridiculous midlife crisis, she was going to take the money and run.

      Lainey kept her gaze on Cooper as he pulled off the rubber gloves and hung them over the side of his bucket before joining her at the sink. The soap dispenser whined out a cloud of grape-scented foam onto his big palm, and he set about washing his hands.

      The honesty of the answer surprised her. She gave the counter beside her a last swipe and threw the disinfectant wipe in the trash can. Standing beside him as she washed her own hands, she felt a strange buzz in the chemically scented air.

      Cooper reached past her to grab a piece of paper towel from the dispenser, and his arm bumped hers as he tossed the damp ball into the trash can. The innocuous contact hit her like an electrical current, raising goose bumps from her shoulder to her wrist.

      She frowned. They were standing in the least erotic of all locations—a public bathroom—and the most innocuous of touches had her all revved up. She had to get out of there. Maybe some space would help.

      “We’re done here.” She grabbed her bucket off the counter and retrieved his from the floor, ignoring the way he held the bathroom door open for her. “You can help me change the keg and then you can go.”

      She made it an order, hoping he might take issue with it and leave now, but his answer was a genial, “Sure.”

      She pushed into the janitorial room, abandoning the buckets by the door for the sake of speed, not even caring that she’d get an earful from Aggie tomorrow about how there was a place for everything and blah, blah, blah.

      Cooper followed her into the bar, behind the counter and then into the back room where the kegs were stored. Lainey unhooked the tap the way Darius had shown her.

      “It’s a pale ale,” she told him, so he could pick the right silver barrel from the stack. Grabbing the empty keg, she moved it out of the way, watching as Cooper expertly maneuvered the full keg into the spot she’d cleared. He made it look effortless, just a quick lift and push. And if his back muscles moved with jungle-cat grace beneath his T-shirt and his biceps flexed with the power of a cobra about to strike, Lainey certainly wasn’t affected by it. Much.

      He flipped the plastic cap off the keg and reached for the coupler.

      “You don’t have to—”

      Cooper glanced over his shoulder and his grin struck her dumb. “I know you probably won’t believe this, but I’ve tapped a keg or two in my time.”

      Again, his deft mastery of the task made her skin flush. It was like his hotness was inversely proportional to the size of the area he was in—and, Lainey noticed on a visceral level, they were standing in a very small area. Self-preservation, she thought, escaping from the back room to behind the bar, where she could breathe properly.

      What the hell was happening here?

      “Need me to do anything else?” Cooper walked out of the back room as if he owned the place, all confidence and capability as he closed the door behind him, and that was the last straw.

      She hated that she noticed his body—the height of him, the breadth. That she wanted to flirt. Touch his arm again. Run her fingers across all the muscles she’d pretended not to notice.

      Because that way lay madness.

      That way lay hockey.

      “What’s your game here, Slick?”

      “What?”

      His genuine surprise at the attack pissed her off.

      “You walk in here like you’re God’s gift to womankind and now that you’ve cleaned a toilet and changed a keg, I’m just supposed to forget what an asshole you were earlier?” She was coming in too hot; she knew it even as she stepped toward him.

      Too much had happened today—too much yelling at Brett, too much talking about her father and too much Cooper short-circuiting her common sense.

      Thankfully, she managed to rein in her irrational anger before she poked him in the chest like an insane person.

      “What’s your problem? Jesus, I told you I was sorry about earlier. What else do you want me to say?”

      His chest rose and fell with anger. Dark brows slashed over brown eyes that sparked with heat. Proximity turned the frustration simmering inside her to something else—something hotter—a potent mix of resentment and lust.

      She grabbed a fistful of black T-shirt and pulled him down until their mouths were practically touching and the throb in her wrist beat like a drum. She’d broken it a long time ago, but for once it was urging her to focus on the present instead of dredging up the past.

      “I don’t want you to say anything.” Lainey caught Cooper’s bottom lip between her teeth, raked them along the sensitive flesh. When she pulled away, their heavy breathing had synced.

      Breathing as one, staring at each other, his eyes reflecting the wild desperation that pulsed through her in that suspended moment of calm before she unleashed the angry lust that coursed through her veins.

      She smashed her mouth to his, a little too hard, so that his tooth jabbed her lip. But she relished that moment of pain, that tie to reality, proof she was still in control of herself, of the imperfect moment.

      Then his tongue traced across her bottom lip, soothing the sting of their lustful collision, and Lainey was lost, swept away in a tidal wave of hormones so potent she needed Cooper—no, not him, she reminded herself. She needed sex. That’s all this was about.

      Lainey kissed him, desperate to keep control, and he drew her to his body—his hard, unyielding body. He was a phenomenal kisser, she decided, slanting her mouth against his. His five o’clock shadow had turned into full-fledged stubble at this late hour, and the rasp of it against her face made her hotter. That little bit of pain-edged pleasure kept things from being too perfect, and made this beautiful train wreck exactly what she was looking for.

      Then his hands breached the hem of her tank and she stopped dissecting her questionable life choices and focused instead on the exquisite sensation of his warm palms against her torso.

      Impatience surged along with lust, and she tugged on his black T-shirt, revealing abs. Pecs. Arms. He let go of her to tug the shirt over his head and dropped it on the counter.

      She pulled him close. Bit his neck, then soothed it with her tongue.

      Oh, God, he felt good. Big. Strong. Like he could handle what she was dishing out.

      She wanted sex. She wanted to punish him for making her feel this way. For making her want things she’d convinced herself she shouldn’t want.

      He fisted one hand in her hair, pulled her head back so he could work her mouth. The moment of pain was swept away in something else when his free arm pulled her tight to him.

      At five-ten, she’d sometimes considered herself too tall. Right now, though, she was glad for every single inch that put their bodies in such perfect alignment. She wrapped her arms around him, clawing at his back as their tongues dueled, both of them vying for control. When they finally came up for air, Lainey pulled away, needing skin-to-skin contact more than she needed resolution to this petty battle.

      Lainey stepped back and yanked her tank top over her head, tossing it on the counter beside his T-shirt.

      Cooper’s eyes flared as his gaze traced her body, pausing long enough on the contents of her lacy black bra that her nipples tightened at the hungry look in his eyes.

      Her breasts weren’t overly large, but he didn’t seem disappointed—he seemed the opposite, really. And even as her body melted at how beautiful that made her feel, she cursed the inward show of weakness.

      Get it together,