Page 58 of A Little Crush
Her hushed voice shoots straight to my cock, so I bend at the knee and hike my legs up to hide the evidence. “Sorry,” I mutter. “And you’re right. I’m acting weird. I guess I still see you as a little kid, you know? And I want to make sure you’re being careful and don’t get hurt.”
Her lips pull into a thin line. “I’m an adult, Jax.”
“No, I know?—”
“I’m not a kid.”
“I know,” I repeat.
“Do you?” she whispers.
I hold her stare, unsure what to say as my Adam’s applebobs in my throat. Part of me wants to prove it. To push her up against the nearest door and show her exactly how little I’ve thought about her age since the moment I saw her in her parents’ pool. The other part? The other part knows how wrong it would be to cross that line with her. There are enough intersecting relationships within our found-family group already. No use adding another one. Right? It would muddy the waters. It would mess things up. It would throw off dynamics. I tear my attention from her pretty eyes, taking in her dusty blue dress all over again. What I wouldn’t give to hike it up around her waist and cup her ass.
“What do you think?” she whispers.
“Huh?”
“Of the dress,” she clarifies. “You never answered, and I’d love your honest opinion.” Swishing her hips back and forth, she lets the light fabric rustle around her thighs as she twists her fingers in front of her.
“Beautiful,” I rasp.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I swallow thickly. “Yeah, he’ll love it.”
“And it’s not too childish?” she pushes.
The girl has no fucking clue. Childish? No. Innocent? A hundred percent yes, and I’ve never wanted to dirty anything more.
“What time will you be back?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I mean, it’s one drink, and I’m pretty sure we aren’t even leaving the lobby, so…”
“Do you want me to wait up?”
Her mouth twitches. “I think I’m okay. Thanks again for the night off.”
“Anytime.”
22
RORY
Crowther—who’s first name is Eric, by the way—is…great. He’s sweet, kind, attentive. And I feel absolutely no spark. I push the thought aside and give him a smile as we step out of the elevator onto my hotel room’s floor.
“Thanks again for the drink,” I tell him. “And for walking me back to my room.”
“Thanks for saying yes even though your friends cornered you,” he jokes.
I look down at my flats, trying not to die from embarrassment. “You felt it, too, huh?”
“Guess you could say that.”
We reach my room, and I fold my arms, unsure what to do or say now that we’re here. Despite Tatum’s insistence that I’m a prude, I’ve tried dating. Really, I have. But there’s a saying about how the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So, I stopped. I got sick and tired of driving myself to insanity and threw in the towel on dating. Tatum might hate me for it, but I’ve never regretted the decision.
Honestly, if we’re talking regrets, I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what I’m feeling as we stand awkwardly in front of the door to my room. Seriously. What now? His hand falls from my waist, and he rocks back on his heels, looking about as nervous as I am. The realization soothes my nerves.
He really has been sweet tonight and is nothing like the playboy persona he puts on for the media. Then again, neither is Dodger despite the copious rumors and nefarious footage the paparazzi have gathered over the years.
