Page 47 of Signed, I'm Yours!
“What?”
“You booked the Apollo for your sidekick auditions?” He glances up to reread the name as if he doesn’t believe his own eyes.
I grab his arm and walk ahead. I don’t have time for his prudeness.
Only…
I forgot how good it feels to touch him. How the warmth pulses under my veins, making me feel more alive than ever. And how that aliveness tends to travel south and concentrate on the one area I can’t.
My cock gives a little stir, and I’ve had just about enough. I let go of him so I can put an end to this madness.
“You’ve seen where I live. Where did you think I would hold auditions? The dive bar down the road?” I answer his question, opening one of the main doors and entering.
“So…” he says when we’re ushered to the events person. I sign my name in lieu of payment and she ushers us into the theater with its bright-red chairs, curvy stage with beautiful golden trims framing it, and the sense of purpose and talent seeping through every square inch. This really should be what everytheater looks like. And most of all, the only good place where a supervillain like myself should conduct his business.
“Are you going to tell me what happened last time?”
“Are you still on that?” I glare at him.
He should be taking in this place, breathing in all the art, skill, and hard work that’s passed through this room. Not focusing on…well, me.
“Nothing much. The theater just…caught on fire,” I say and plant my ass on a seat so we can get on with the show, though from the people who’ve emailed for specifics, I’m not holding out much hope.
“You set fire to a theater?”
“Excuse me! I didn’t set fire to anything. One of the auditioners did, thank you very much. It wasn’t my fault.”
It really had been such a bad crop. I was kinda grateful when the fire broke out. Gave me an excuse to skip rather than waste any more time with talentless people who could never be super, let alone supervillain sidekicks.
Jack sits beside me. I glare at him so we don’t forget ourselves and how much I despise being stuck with him and clap my hands. The lights turn down on the audience side, leaving just the stage lit in a multitude of spotlights.
Jack inhales, and I can see his chest and belly rising from the corner of my eyes. Then he exhales, and his shoulders brush mine.
I ball my hands into fists.
He inhales again.
“Could you not?” I snap.
I don’t need a repeat of last night, feeling his breath caress my face softly and warmly while I was…while I was trying to fucking sleep. Or his body heat seeping from him and alighting all my senses like…like a fucking radiator.
“Stop what?”
“That!” I point to his mouth. “It’s annoying enough you wouldn’t stop snoring last night. Do I have to put up with your breathing too?”
Jack chokes and starts laughing.
“Snoring? Me?”
“Yes, you!” As if I didn’t hear the motorboat shaking the entire bed. I’m not a fool.
“Okay, Mr. Snores-a-Lot.Iwas the one snoring. Sure.” He pats my hand, causing ripple after ripple of heat and desire through me.
“Me? Mr. Snores-a-Lot? You must be mistaken. I don’t do such vile things like snoring.”
“You can call that singing too if you want. Doesn’t change what it is.” This time, he squeezes my hand.
What? Is he trying to kill me or something? He knows how touching each other makes us both feel. Unless…unless, he likes it.
