Hot in Hellcat Canyon by Julie Anne Long

me an angel?”
    “I think I did.” He was amused. “I don’t know if you’re incredulous or commenting on how cheesy that was.”
    “Kind of both, to tell you the truth,” she said quite honestly. Still reeling.
    She had to force herself not to take a step backward.
    He just grinned again. The man was scrappy, she had to hand it to him. “Excellent news, as to the first. As to the second, I’ll have to work on my patter. I might be a little rusty when it comes to asking women out.”
    Hoooolly. Crap.

CHAPTER 5
    H er heart felt like a roulette wheel given a good brisk swipe.
    “Oh.” She drew in a long breath. “I . . . um. You were serious about that. Earlier.”
    That had emerged a lot more astonished and a lot less gracious than she’d hoped.
    “Yeah. I was serious.” It was his turn to be a bit incredulous.
    She would probably remember this afternoon later in terms of its silences, each of them with their own character: tense, fraught, horrifying, painfully sexy, awkward.
    “Um. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
    “You . . . can’t?” he repeated. As if she’d just taught him a new word in Turkish.
    “I can’t,” she said firmly.
    “But thank you,” she added weakly a moment later, into the dead silence.
    “Mmm,” was all he said. A moment later.
    He turned abruptly then wandered into the second bedroom. Where he was just going to find more of that green carpet.
    She remained rooted to the spot.
    And this time the silence was horrible because she had no idea whether she’d offended him or hurt his feelings. But the room was practically spinning.
    He’d asked her out .
    He’d asked her out.
    He’d asked her out.
    Then again, she supposed he needed to do something to fill his downtime.
    Or someone.
    “So . . . is it all guys, Britt?” he called casually from the other room. “Asking for a friend.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    He emerged from the room. “Or maybe it’s guys with tattoos? Or actors. It’s actors, isn’t it?”
    “I’m lost. Why are we suddenly playing Password?”
    “Just trying to get a bead on your current objection to me. You know, so I can refine my future approach.”
    Her jaw dropped. She gave a short, astounded laugh. The nerve of him.
    “Is there another guy?” he pressed.
    “J. T.—”
    “Another girl?”
    “Um—”
    “Another guy and another girl? This is California, after all. People get adventurous here.”
    “J. T.!” And now she was laughing.
    “You’re into vampires, blindfolds, My Little Pony? I’m pretty open-minded.”
    “I’m just—wait. My Little Pony?”
    “You live in Los Angeles long enough, you hear everything .”
    She had the strangest urge to tell him about the mermaid and the fisherman.
    “Huh.” She was definitely going to Google My Little Pony.
    He detected a softening. “Aw, c’mon, Britt,” he cajoled. “Just one night. Just a few hours. We’ll sing badly, have a few drinks. See where the night takes us. I’m a person, same as you.”
    She almost snorted. The “same as you” part wasn’t remotely true.
    “J. T., it’s just . . .”
    She had no idea how to finish that sentence.
    “Yeah?”
    The moment was as taut as harp strings, suddenly.
    “I’m busy.”
    His face all but blanked.
    He was probably paralyzed by the crushing lameness of this excuse.
    “Busy,” he repeated, finally. As though he was tasting milk that had gone ever-so-slightly off.
    He sounded more disappointed in her lack of originality than anything else.
    She would have laughed if she didn’t have a whomping case of vertigo caused from being asked out by a movie star .
    One who had slept with Rebecca freaking Corday.
    It was so wholly unexpected, she was as at a loss, and as breathless and panicky, as if her kayak had tipped over in the Pacific.
    J. T. McCord made her feel way too many things all at once. Things she wasn’t ready to feel again. She needed a wading pool before she entered the dating pool, and he was the whole