Page 11 of This or That
Don't you?
Once again, I keep my question to myself. The more this impromptu reunion inflames me, the more his body language changes. From immobile to stiff. From compliant to distant. From acceptance to denial. His brows knit, and he retreats until his back hits the wall. I hiss when my hand that’s still firmly planted on his ass strikes the wall; that doesn’t deter me, and I keep it in place.
“Get your fucking hand off me!” His command is delivered in an angry whisper, bordering on a plea. If he had expressed it earlier, I might have taken it seriously. His entire body melted like putty in my hands moments ago, and his eyes speak volumes. In any case, his next word contradicts both his tone and order. A strangled, even lower, “please” leaves his delectable mouth that I long to kiss again. Somehow, I release him from my hold, distressed, and provide the requested distance. No matter how willing he was to follow me, while visibly debating the idea, his potent presence overwhelms me. Backing down from my initial objective is beyond my control.
Must be why I’m just noticing his tight fists. The next thing I know, the jackass’s fist forcefully slams into my stubbled jaw. No time to protest. No time to stop him. No time…
Fuck, that hurt!
The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me as my knees wobble; I fantasized about doing the exact same thing the first time we met, and now, it’s happening tome!
Groaning my disapproval, I rub my jaw, oblivious to the girl screeching behind me because I bumped into her while working to regain my balance and composure. My hunter instinct recovers, and I promptly assess the situation. As private as I’d wish to keep our reunion, I belatedly register that his knee-jerk reaction created a small gathering.
“Sorry about that, miss.” I offer her my most candid smile, and she hands me a Sharpie to sign her collarbone. Why not, right?
I inwardly scold myself for my carelessness, driven by my testosterone rather than my rational brain. I’m hoping that nobody had the bright idea to film this; I wouldn’t enjoy reliving it on social media. It’s a little too late to worry about that. I didn’t have time to think but should probably do some damage control. Dammit!
I turn their way, wink, and declare jokingly, “Guys, it’s okay.” It’s a business trip, and I’m here as a VIP; I can’t damage my reputation or Nicolas’s. “I’m Tyler Durden!”
That earns me a chuckle from the few who pick up on the reference. One of them starts, “The first rule of fight club is…” and trails off as the rest chant the remainder of the sentence. We continue in unison until we’re at the third rule. Once we’re done, I gently dismiss the prying eyes, informing them that I’ll be back on stage shortly.
Meanwhile, Channing is frozen in place. His expressive green eyes are back on me, but I make sure the other patrons are back to minding their own business before I focus back on him.
We lock eyes, and I let him stew up to three Mississippi, then readjust my hat as I burst out laughing. “I probably deserved it.” I wink, caressing the spot where he hit me. Because I’m a tease, I wet my lips to make sure that he’s still with me. He doesn’t disappoint, although he remains tight-lipped. “Now, be honest. You must’ve enjoyed it more than you care to admit. You’ve kept everything bottled up since we met that first time, didn’t you?”
“Fuck you, Hunter,” he warns in a deeper voice. Hearing him say my name sends sparks down my spine.
As much as I’d like to take him up on his offer, I refrain, knowing that I’ve toyed with him enough. Instead, I lean into his personal space again, my lips grazing his earlobe. “We’re not done here.”
His muscular body trembles, but I bet it’s not due to fear. I give him some space. Antsy, he examines our surroundings, as if to confirm that we don’t have an audience. “Go to Hell, cowboy.” Once again, his words contradict his facial expression. Fire flashes through his eyes at the last word.
When I nearly suggest that he save a horse, I know that’s my cue to go back to DJing. Turning away from him to do exactly that, he snatches my wrist and spins me back to where I was standing seconds ago. My hat falls and I don’t care enough to grab it, but he does and replaces it without a word. His navy blue T-shirt stretches with the effort of his inhalations. His hand wrapped around my wrist fascinates him as much as it does me. It feels likedéjà vu. We look up at the same time.
The air between us thickens.
And just like that, my heart skips a beat when, with his eyes closed, Channing does the one thing I wasn’t expecting.
Caves.
Chapter 8
Apocalypse
Mike
With my heart in my throat, I shut my eyes, cup his cheeks in my hands, and before I know it, my lips latch onto the cowboy’s. I want to know. I need to know. I needhimto know. Punching Hunter was liberating, but not as gratifying as expected, so I had to try another strategy to rectify the situation. This is my one chance to get even with him and get him out of my system.
The world around us vanishes the second his eyes meet mine. The noisy techno. The shouting voices. The evening chill.
Observing him shamelessly play tonsil hockey witha womantroubled me. What’s his deal? I can’t allow him to have it his way. Otherwise, what would that make me? Weak? This is my chance. He’s at my mercy and has to pay for the humiliation that he inflicted at the club. For the little obsession his stupid hat became, haunting my days and nights. For the manhandling he dished in front of meaningless so-called new friends, but still.
His fucking hat doesn’t get in the way; he must have cocked his head to accommodate my awkward and demanding kiss. The more he pants, the more my face tickles as he willingly opens for me. There.
This is my call. I’m in charge here! I’ll use the bastard’s own tricks against him.
My tongue sweeps into his greedy mouth, and his shoulders instantly relax under my touch. I would have preferred some resistance rather than his soft chortle. One of my hands fists Hunter’s fitted T-shirt and tugs him closer, my body going lax as I get reacquainted with his taste. Mint. Caramel. Male. My mind is set on its goal, but my traitorous body joins the party. A flood of conflicting signals ensues.
Focus, Clayton.This is payback. This is revenge. This is power.
