Page 4 of Pucking One Night Stand
I refuse to give her that.
“Nah…” I take another sip, then set my glass down. “But thanks for the offer.”
I turn and walk away, cursing myself internally.
Shit. Think I played that one all wrong.
But, as in most cases, reverse psychology takes its time to work.
“Well,” her voice calls out behind me. “You could always buy me another drink if you really want to.”
I stop.That’s nice of her.Real charmer, this one.
There’s a smugness in her tone, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she’s already won.
I exhale sharply through my nose, then turn back around, stepping up beside her at the bar. The barman is still within reach, so I catch his eye and hold up two fingers. “Another round.”
Two fresh glasses hit the bar, and I pick one up, holding it out to her.
She watches me, head tilted, that same amused look still playing on her lips.
It’s not just about the bet with Bishy anymore, this is something else entirely. She’s acting like no one has ever turned her down before. And I don’t think she likes it.
Leaning in, the warmth of her breath hits my ear as she says, “What, you’re seriously not interested in me?”
I let out a slow, almost lazy breath, keeping my expression neutral. Then, low and rough, I answer, “Look, babe, you could strip naked, peel your panties down over those thighs, kick ’em off, and the moment you reach for my belt? Hell, I’d just stop you.”
Shit.
I might have been trying to sell the act, but now I’m selling it a little too well, because fuck me, I just pictured it. This woman, standing there. Just in her underwear.
I blink hard, pushing the image out of my head, but then she laughs like I just told the funniest joke she’s ever heard. She reaches out, her hand settling lightly on my arm as she shakes her head. “Oh my God… of course. You bat for the other…”
“Uh?”
I stare at her.
No. No, no, no.
This is not happening. This whole thing is going completely pear-shaped now.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I say, voice flat. “I’m straight. Trust me—”
I don’t even get to finish the sentence because then I look at her.
Really look at her. And she’s looking at me, too. “Prove it,” she says as something sharpens in her gaze, something charged. The air between us pulls taut like an invisible rope.
Our heads move, just slightly. Closer. Neither of us blinks.
My fingers tighten around my glass for a half-second before I set it down.
Then I just reach for her. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Now with her in my arms, I tilt her chin up and kiss her. I don’t ask. I don’t wait. I just do it. And fucking hell... to my surprise she actually melts into me. Right into me.
Everything, the bar, the bass, the lights, the crowd, the bet, vanishes.
It’s just her. The warmth of her body pressed against mine. The taste of liquor on her lips. The way she fists the fabric of my shirt, pulling me in like she’s been waiting for this. Like we’ve both been waiting for this.
