Page 40 of Bad Situation

His hands slide down my back and he pulls me in tight. “The same Jase who hit on you in front of me and wants to take you to see bands and do other kinds of dirty things to your body besides working you out.”

“Besides the band part, you know all of this because you’re a trained investigator?”

He shakes his head. “I know all of this because I’m a man, I have a cock, and the minute I walked into that room, he tried to stake his claim. But I promise you—if there’s a pissing contest, I will win.”

I try not to laugh or be disgusted. “A pissing contest? So, now you’re thirteen?”

He doesn’t answer, but instead drops his hands to my ass again—a place he’s feeling quite comfortable lately—and squeezes before letting me go and shifts away. Both our arms fall to our sides and he surprises me when he challenges, “Show me what you’ve got.”

I widen my eyes because he can’t be serious. “What?”

“Come at me. I want to see what you can do.”

Shit, he’s serious. “No, way.”

“Yes, way.”

I roll my eyes. “You are thirteen.”

He smirks. “Tell me what you’d go for first. I dare you.”

“Oooh,” I exclaim and widen my eyes. “A dare? Well, that changes everything. I always take a dare.”

“I bet you do.” Eli tips his head. “How many men have dared you in a boardroom?”

That wipes the smile off my face. “I’ve been dared to fail more times than I can count. More times than I can remember.”

“I bet you’ve won every dare that was ever laid at your hot-as-fuck heels—which do amazing things to your ass, by the way.”

He’s right about me besting every asshole who tried to challenge me at work. I don’t care if I do sound conceited—I’ve won every encounter and it wasn’t because my last name is Montgomery. I did it through hard work and tenacity. It’s a big, fat fuck you to anyone who ever thinks I can’t do the job I’ve been given. But instead of telling him any of that, I prove to him I’m still all female and defend my obsession. “Don’t mock my shoes.”

Eli shakes his head as he rakes his eyes over me in my hoodie and joggers. “Baby, I’m not mocking anything. Even though everything I’ve read on you makes me believe your shoe closet is probably worth more than my annual salary, I fucking love looking at you in your fancy-ass shoes.” He takes a step toward me and lifts his chin. “Let’s get on with it—I’m coming at you and you have no escape. What will you do first?”

I let myself take him in as he did me. He’s wearing a faded t-shirt proving he ran the Chicago Marathon five years ago and got the souvenir to prove it. His jeans are even older, bunched at the ankles over work boots. The fact that he doesn’t care if my shoe collection is worth more than his salary warms me … even though I doubt it’s true, but you never know. I have a lot of shoes and it’s no secret I appreciate haute couture.

Finally, I tip my head and decide I can dish it out as good as him, even though it’s a true statement. “I’d go for your cock.”

A slow grin spreads across his face as he shifts to widen his stance and crosses his arms. “I knew it.”

I mirror his stance, crossing my arms, but hitch a foot instead. “You think you know everything.”

“I know what you want and you just confirmed it.”

“If you’re coming at me and I have no escape, I’m definitely going for your cock but, trust me, it won’t feel good.” His grin shrinks into a smirk and if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a satisfied one. “Then maybe your eyes. Followed by your ears, throat, and nose. I doubt I’m strong enough, but then I’d try for your knees and ankles. Since you’re such a big guy, I’d probably just stick with your cock.”

“Do you talk about cocks with Jase?”

I don’t answer but I do smile, causing his eyes to narrow. It appears Elijah Pettit has a jealous streak.

“Don’t tease me, Jen. I don’t like it.”

“Pretty sure I’ve only known you for a New York minute. I can talk to anyone I want to about cocks,” I counter. “You haven’t even kissed me.”

“But I’ve had my hands on you. You were wet for me earlier—don’t deny it. I had tangible evidence.”

I do everything I can to even my breathing because I knew it. I knew he felt how he affected me. I tip my head to the other side and lose my smile because I’m pretty sure I’m wet again. “Don’t be crass.”

He drops his arms and takes another step, closing the distance between us, thickening the air in this already musty environment. There’s no question—I know I’m wet and am forced to shift my weight.

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