Page 5 of Curveball
Palmer, you are so busted.
“I was doing that, wasn’t I?”
“Is that a serious question?”
But you’re so pretty.See, tipsy me could say that. Sober me is wondering why this boozy school night adventure was ever a good idea in the first place.
“Umm.”
Any words I knew in a previous life have again left the building, and I just . . . stare. He flexes his fists and the corded muscles of his forearms tighten, and holy hell, I wish I were still drunk. I could make such a fool of myself if I knew I wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.
I peer around him toward my table. With luck, Priya has noticed my extended absence and is coming to rescue me. Nope, she seems pretty comfortable. What I also notice is his friends not so subtly darting glances our way—and openly snickering.I step fully into the hallway and let the bathroom door close behind me. My curls are a wild mane tonight and I push them off my face.
“Did you follow me over here?” I whisper my suspicion, because hey, if I’m wrong, the embarrassment that worried me earlier starts now.
One corner of his lips tips up. “Not follow . . . exactly.”
“Exactlywhat, then?” I narrow my eyes and take another peek at his friends. As a group, their eyes are glued to us.
“I’m calling dibs.” My bad boy is grinning, and damn him, he has a dimple. Just one.
“D-dibs? What are you talking about?” I realize with some amazement that, for the absurdity of this situation, I’m not afraid of this man. Wildly curious, but not scared.
“You gonna lie and say you weren’t planning a trip over to our table?”
My eyes go round.Well, fuck.
“Thought so.” He bobs his head slowly and gives me that broad smile again, damn him. I bet it never fails to lift skirts. “I’ll save you the trip.” He points in the direction of his table. “Look, those other guys over there are all too young for you.”
I have to agree, but this makes me laugh. “Well, that one looks about the same age as you. He might do.” I point to the clean-shaven bald guy. He’s hot, but?—
“Nope. Not available.”
“You just made that up.” I feign seriousness, but I’m just messing with him. It’s been so long since I flirted, I’m not even sure I’m doing it right.
“It’s . . . complicated.”
Ooh, the raspy growl is back, and hits my needy core just right. It’s fascinating that he seems to be warning me away from something I’m not even interested in. He reaches out and twirls one of my wild curls around his finger like a spring, and I don’tpull away. When he releases it, it drops over the swell of my breast, and his eyes follow its descent. After a moment, he lifts his gaze to mine and holds steady.
My pulse is racing—andwhat the hell?—but I don’t show him how affected I am.
“So, tell me what you planned to accomplish when you reached our table.”
He skims one finger over the back of my hand, clear to the tip of my pinkie. His fingertips are rough and calloused against my fair skin.
I lift one shoulder, but it takes all my concentration to keep my composure.
“I’m not really sure. A phone number, maybe?”
“You’re not sure? Wasn’t it your idea?”
I shake my head, and there goes my hair again, swishing along with the movement.
“It was a dare.”
He takes half a step closer and his voice goes even lower. Even deeper.
“This dare. It’s one you want to win?”
