“I know jiu-jitsu,” I warn.
His lips tip up into a half-smirk. “Is that so?” His voice is raspy and impossibly sexy.
Snap out of it! You don’t even know who this guy is and he just came out of your bathroom.
“Why are you in my bathroom?” I ask, not losing my fighting stance.
“Uh … I needed a shower … obviously.”
“There are like fifteen bathrooms in this house, why mine?” I ask. Okay, there aren’t fifteen. More like five and a half, but whatever.
“Because I was told I could use this one,” he says in a duh tone, swinging his thumb over his shoulder back toward the bathroom. “Are you going to stay in that position forever?” He flicks his fingers lazily over me.
“Yes,” I seethe. “I don’t know you. You could’ve broken in.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I explained to you I was told I could shower in this bathroom. If I was told, why would I be a burglar? Also, if I was breaking in, there are a lot more interesting things I could do. I mean … looking at this girly room of yours, I’d say searching for your diary would be far more fun.” He looks me over and I glare, my eyes on fire.
“I don’t have a diary.”
“Oh really Curly Sue?”
“My name is Mia,” I bite out.
“I know.”
“You know? How is it possible you know me, and I don’t know you.”
I hate to admit it, but his face is not one I’d be likely to ever forget.
“You’re Hayes’s daughter.”
“You know my dad too?” I seethe.
Who the hell is this guy?
He chuckles. Clearly amused and not at all bothered his towel has slipped even lower during our conversation.
“He’s taken me and my band under his wing. We’re recording our first studio album with him.”
My lips part and I vaguely remember my dad talking about this band he heard at a music festival when he was in California, how they’d been at it a few years with no luck but were really good.
I don’t give this cocky asshole the information. It’ll go straight to his head and I can tell his ego is already inflated enough.
“I still don’t know your name,” I remind him.
“I’m not in the habit of revealing that information to girls who look like they’re about to knock me out. Do you really know jiu-jitsu?” he inquires, an almost surprised but curious look on his face.
“Yes,” I grind out. “My father insisted my sister and I learn if we ever encountered any assholes in the wild or in our room we could take them out.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Um … no.” My brows furrow. “I could knock you out in two seconds flat if I had to. Don’t test me.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he chuckles. “The Wild is my band’s name.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“Now you do.” He grins. It’s the kind of smile that makes girls everywhere fling their panties off. But not me. Growing up around cocky rock stars my entire life has thankfully made me immune to their charm.