The Hotter You Burn

“Good? Good! For a bona fide he-slut, you sure don’t know anything about women. Harlow would give up anything to see you happy. Anything! Even her own happiness.”

“If she’s so concerned about me, why isn’t she here?” The question exploded from him with more force than he’d intended.

“Tone,” Jase shouted from somewhere in the house.

Beck winced. Yelling at his friend’s woman? Really? He would flip his ever-loving lid if one of the boys did the same to Harlow. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “What else did Harlow say to you?”

Brook Lynn took a moment to huff and puff before admitting, “Mainly that you two want different things.”

Different things? Like hell. “She asked for commitment, and I gave it to her.”

“Your version of it.”

“Yes.” He gripped his knees with so much force he might need a wheelchair for the rest of the day. “She told me I wasn’t enough for her.”

“Do you even have ears?” Exasperated, Brook Lynn threw her arms up. “According to Harlow, she told you what you were offering her wasn’t enough. And rightly so. What you’re offering wouldn’t be enough for anyone.”

Screw it! “Where is she, Brook Lynn? I’ve answered your questions, and now I demand answers of my own.”

She gave him a pitying look. “You told her you felt caged, and when she set you free, you blamed her for it. She cried, Beck. She went back to living in a tent.”

Razors cut through his chest, and he replayed the fight through Harlow’s eyes. She’d been scared, her own fears driving her. She’d only wanted reassurance. His admittance they had a chance at something good.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. As the air left him, his upper body just kind of sagged with defeat. Damn it. If she’d mentioned feeling trapped, he would have set her free, too.

“Are relationships always this difficult?” he croaked.

“Only the ones that matter.” Brook Lynn sighed. “Look, it’s not too late to salvage this. She’s hurting, and that’s a guarantee you’ll have to grovel before she’ll listen to a word you have to say, but if you don’t convince her you’re in the relationship of your own free will, that she’s an important part of your future, one you can’t live without, you’ll lose her.”

I can’t lose her.

“She is an important part of my future.”

“Don’t tell me, tell her.” Brook Lynn gazed around his room and grimaced, obviously noting the empty beer bottles he’d discarded. “You aren’t just an idiot, you’re a pig, and it’s a wonder you managed to snag someone as classy as Harlow.” With that, she strode out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

He’d messed up. What if he couldn’t win Harlow back?

No. No, he couldn’t think like that. She’d gifted him with her virginity. That meant something to her. To them both.

He raced after Brook Lynn, calling, “Where is she?”

Brook Lynn leaned against the kitchen counter and accepted a coffee mug from Jase. She blew on the liquid, taking her sweet time.

“Please,” he said. “With a cherry on top of me.”

She smiled at him, still not in any kind of hurry. “I suggest you pack a bag and move into the Strawberry Inn for a while.”

His control frayed, ready to snap at any second. “This is my house. I’m not going anywhere. Just tell me where the hell she is.”

“Tone,” Jase snapped a second time.

Brook Lynn patted Beck on the cheek. “Did I mention the inn has a new maid? And get this. She seems to have a soft spot for idiots.”

* * *

HARLOW STUFFED A pillow into a fresh case. She’d been washing, dusting and vacuuming all day, and if she wanted to keep this job—which she did, she had to—she would be washing, dusting and vacuuming all evening. Her arms, back and thighs ached. Her feet screamed in protest. Despite the blast of the air conditioner, which she’d cranked to high, perspiration created a film over her skin.

“You didn’t do it right.” Scott Cameron reclined in the center of the king-size bed, as smug as a pasha being serviced by his least favorite concubine. “Do it again.”

Though she would have preferred to smother him with the pillow, she removed the stuffing and once again fit it inside the case. In the past few hours, half the town had moved into the inn, it seemed. Scott, Virgil Porter. Jessie Kay. Daphne and her daughter Hope. Kenna. Four girls she’d tormented in high school. Another guy who’d gotten the Glass Pass. Word of Carol’s promised “elite package” had spread fast.

“And wipe the mirror again,” he said. “I see streaks.”

“You know, Scott,” she said, “if you spent half as much time pleasing your girlfriend as you do tormenting me, she’d be the happiest girl on the planet.”

He glowered. “Trust me. She’s plenty pleased.”

“You sure about that? The few times I’ve seen her, she’s looked miserable.”

Before he could respond, Dottie peeked her head through the crack in the door. “We’ve got another customer waiting for you to clean, Glass. Room twelve.”

Great!

“But she isn’t done in here,” Scott complained.

“You’ve had her for over an hour,” Dottie retorted, surprisingly snappy. Usually she was sunny smiles, all “yes, sir” and “yes, ma’am.” “Your time’s up.”