Page 2 of It’s Only Love (Citrus Pines #1)

“’Scuse me little lady,” a deep, southern voice interrupted.

A man squeezed himself between Christy and Justine, his big body knocking Christy to the side.

She squealed and tipped back, fumbling for the bronzed railing to keep from falling off her wobbling barstool.

When she righted herself, she turned to the man in question, he had his back to her, leaning on the bar talking to Justine.

Christy’s eyes narrowed at the wide expanse of his shoulders which were now blocking her view of her friend.

She reached up and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention but as she did, he popped his elbow out resting his hand on his hip, the action batting her hand away.

Okay, this guy is rude, barging his way into our conversation, who does he think he is?

Blocking her view of Justine with those big, muscular, big, wide, muscular, big shoulders.

Damn, he’s got nice shoulders, and back, that shirt pulled tight across them … Christy shook herself.

“Ahem,” she coughed politely, attempting to get his attention. He either didn’t hear her, or he was simply ignoring her. Christy felt it was most likely the latter as he continued flirting shamelessly with Justine.

“You sure look real good tonight. When are you gonna let me take you out on the town?” he asked, oozing charm in that smoky, southern accent of his. Ugh, do women actually fall for this routine? She thought, rolling her eyes.

“Excuse me,” Christy tried again, peering around him and catching Justine’s eyes for a moment before he moved to the side and blocked her view. She started to get the impression he was doing this on purpose.

“I told you, hon, February 29th I would meet you here,” Justine cooed back at him, amusement in her voice.

“Wait a minute, there ain’t no February 29th,” he drawled, draping an arm around Justine’s shoulders. Christy’s eyes moved to his back again, his shirt hugging his muscles so tight it threatened to rip, which would be wonderful awful.

“There is every four years,” Justine replied patiently.

“Aw shucks, there is?” he chuckled.

Did he just ‘aw shucks’? Who even says that these days? Christy was getting madder by the second.

“Excuse me!” Christy said loudly, her tone snooty.

She finally got his attention, but Sexy Shoulders turned sharply, and he knocked her again.

This time she couldn’t grab hold of the railing and went sailing off her barstool.

Before she managed to faceplant the wooden floor, a pair of strong arms banded around her waist and hefted her up, dumping her unceremoniously back on her barstool.

She began sputtering with indignation, but when she looked up to face him and found herself staring into the electric blue eyes belonging to the kissing guy from the booth, her words died in her throat.

She thought the deep color of them had been a trick of the light but up close she could see it wasn’t, they were bright and wide, sharp with a touch of amusement in them.

Her stomach dropped as she realized she had only seen eyes this amazing on one man.

Dean Campbell.

The man she spent her teenage years trying to impress. The man responsible for one of her most painful memories. The man she now couldn’t stand . Right here. In the flesh.

Christy took him in, his blond hair styled perfectly, thick black lashes framing those incredible blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a sharp-bladed nose perched above a wide, lush red mouth.

That mouth she knew was framed by the cutest dimples she had ever seen on a man.

Blond stubble dusted his jawline. He was even more stunning than she remembered.

She opened her mouth, blowing her curls out of her eyes, ready to give him a piece of her mind but he turned away, dismissing her.

“Taylor!” he called over the music. “Get your friend some water, she’s so wasted she can’t even sit on her stool without falling off!

” He turned back to her. “Go easy on the alcohol next time, darlin’,” he patronized.

He might as well have chucked her under the chin.

A red mist descended over Christy and she knew she was about to detonate.

He’d sent her from happy to rage-filled in ten seconds.

He turned back to Justine, leaving Christy spluttering indignantly .

“Now come on, Dean, you remember Christy, don’t you?” Justine said, putting her hand on Dean’s arm and turning him back towards Christy. He frowned as he looked down at Christy, his eyes drifting lazily over her from head to toe before meeting hers again. He shook his head.

“Nope, can’t place her.”

Not that she thought it was possible, but her rage ratcheted up a notch, embarrassment now joining the party. She felt her cheeks burn. How could he not remember me?

Dean peered down at her again, “Maybe you should go and splash some cold water on your face, you don’t look so good.”

Arrogant. Asshole .

She opened her mouth to unleash on him, then she spotted the wicked glint in those sharp eyes.

That was exactly what he wanted. Her eyes narrowed, steel fused her spine.

If that’s what he wanted, she sure as hell wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She spun on her heel and stomped off towards the restrooms, muttering to herself the whole way.

“Nice to meet you, Kirsten!” he called after her.

Without stopping, she raised her hand and flipped him off.