Page 72 of Hard to Judge

“And add an hour to your commute? No way.” I head for the restaurant he picked for our lunch. He follows.

The hostess is ready and waves us back. We weave our way through the tables to a booth in the rear. This is the perfect lunch spot, which is why I come here so often the hostess knows me. It’s not a hole-in-the-wall, but it’s not fancy either. It has a simple and elegant ambiance without being pretentious. And the food is fantastic.

Hotaru’s hands slip under the collar of my coat. His fingertips graze my collarbone and the nape of my neck. I don’t fight the electricity it shoots through my belly. “You’re worth it.” The heat of his rumble seeps into my neck.

I turn and let him see my flirty smile. “Thank you.”

He sets the coat on the seat next to his and slides in beside me. His whole body touches mine from shoulder to shoe. “Next time, I’m picking you up. End of.”

“Well, hello to you too, bossy britches.” I look down my nose at him, which is hard because he’s so tall.

He leans in, crowding me, and puts his mouth next to my ear. “You like it when I’m bossy.” His teeth prick my lobe.

My body pings as lust pinballs through me. I stifle a moan with my lips.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess chimes.

Honest to god, I’d forgotten she was there. “Thank you, Livy.”

“No problem, Dr. Fitzpatrick.” The young woman’s eyes light on Hota, not in interest per se, but in curiosity for sure. I’ve only been there with Nat and Astor.

“Hands and teeth where I can see ’em.” I pinch Hota’s rib. “You can’t get bossy with me here. People know who I am.”

His thick lips purse. “I should have picked a different spot for lunch.”

“Maybe you should’ve.” I bob one shoulder. “The lobster bisque will make up for it.”

“No chance.” Hota sizzles me with a look that could boil a pot of the stuff.

My pussy heats. I wave a hand over my face, though it’s not where I need the relief.

“Hot?” Hota purrs.

“Yes, you are, and you know it.” I narrow my gaze at him. “So stop trying to get me worked up in public.”

“Nope.” He brings the glass of water to his lips and sips. Something about his big hand on the weeping glass and his throat working has me strung tight.

“You wanted to meet me?” I prompt.

He smiles. “Yes.”

“Why?” I ask too loudly for the ambient noise. No one looks because this is New York, the land of mind-your-own-fucking-business. Thank goodness.

“Do I need to have a reason more than spending time with you?” He picks up my hand and follows the lines of my palm from one side to the other.

“Oh, you’re smooth.” My laugh is fun and light.

“I’m not. I want to ask you something.” His solemn gaze meets mine.

I expect he’ll ask me something about Arlo or our tentative throuple. “Ask me.”

His lips part and then close. He threads his fingers through mine and sets them in his lap, covering the top of my hand with his free one.

“Hey, Doc Fitz. How’s it going toda—” Shelly finally looks up from her pocket with her tablet in hand. Her natural beam flits to me for a second before her gaze swings to Hota. She was a cheerleader for an NFL team somewhere in the South for a fewyears. Her blond hair is long, and her smile is as big as they come. Somehow it doubles in size. “Who are you, gorgeous?”

She asks Hotaru, completely forgetting me and the question she kind of asked about my day. I’m not accustomed to the sticky ick of jealousy, mostly because I never had anyone to call my own. I’ve only felt it with Arlo a couple of times. So this heavy, mucky feeling knocks me right off balance.

Shelly tucks her pouty bottom lip under her bright white teeth and sashays her hip from side to side, awaiting his answer.

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