Page 98 of Dream Chaser
Everyone laughs—everyone. And not because it’s funny, but anyone who’s spent time with her knows that’s exactly what she’s going to do.
“You gonna be a shit stirrer, Mags?” I ask.
“Of course I am. There is no one, not one person, who can smell shit stirring from a mile away before the fart even happens.”
“Fucking dead.” I laugh.
I should be focusing on the food, on the laughter, the casual teasing, the way this whole night somehow feels like we stumbled into a family setting, one that feels damn good.
But I can’t.
Because of Iz, who’s been way fucking different tonight than up at her parents’ place. I like BV Pub Izobel Ross. No bullshit, I more than like her. Right now, sweet, casually lethal, smart-mouthed Iz is sitting across from me with a pile of crab legs, sleeves rolled up, hair twisted into her signature messy half-thing that looks like it took zero effort, but even more than that, her neck looks edible.
And then there’s her mouth.
Lips parted in concentration as she cracks open a crab leg with a practiced snap. The shell gives, and she dips a leg into a pool of melted butter then draws out the meat with slow precision, licking one finger absentmindedly before she takes a bite.
I swear to God, my zipper just twitched.
She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. Or maybe she does. Either way, every move is like a direct hit to the part of me I’ve been trying to keep in check since the second I stepped onto that rooftop.
She leans forward, elbows on the table, tongue peeking out to catch a drip of butter at the corner of her mouth. Then she smiles—messy, unapologetic, victorious—like crab leg domination is a contact sport and she just scored.
All I can think about is that mouth.
Those lips.
Wrapped around?—
Jesus.I sit back and take a sip of cold water that does absolutely nothing to cool the inferno behind my fly.
She glances up, catches me staring, and cocks her head like she knows.
“Problem, Skinner?” she asks, licking her thumb.
Hell yes, I have a big problem. And it’s sitting across from me like a damn seafood siren, ruining all my good intentions and making me wonder what excuse I can come up with to get her alone—fast.
Because if she’s even half as talented with my body as she is with a crab cracker?
I’m a goner.
A willing goner.
“Not a one.”
“Skinner,” Riley calls my attention away from Iz. “Damn good grilling.”
“She’s not wrong; your meat was phenomenal,” Lexi says, trying not to laugh.
I open my mouth to respond, and then close it.
Sydney laughs. “Did Griffon Skinner just filter himself?”
Iz snickers. “Oh no, you don’t—out with it.”
I lean back and lock eyes with her. “Fine, my go-to comeback would be,that’s what she said.”
Izzy laughs and looks at Lexi. “Wonder what a crab compliment would get you.”
