Page 25 of That Moment
I cross my legs, and the slit in my dress parts like a curtain. Night air skims my thigh; his gaze follows, hot enough to burn. I let the skirt fall more open, my knee turning toward him like my body has its own agenda.
“You’re baiting me,” he mutters.
“Am I?” I glance down at my own leg as if I’m surprised to find it there. “Seems like your eyes are fishing on their own.”
He drags his attention back up with visible effort, and I feel that like a thumbprint on my skin. “You’re playing with fire,” he says.
“We’re sitting next to a bonfire.” I tip my head. “Feels appropriate.”
He leans an inch closer, and the smell of him: beer, cedar, and smoke curls into me. He gives me another warning, just like all the rest. A sexy, hollow threat that he knows is just enough to keep me hanging on to hope.
“You want to play, Barbie, you better be ready to lose.”
My pulse trips, but I don’t blink. “Who says I have to lose?”
He grins slowly, like he’s thinking of all the ways he’s going to break me. “You always did talk big.”
“Yeah?” I don’t know what comes over me, maybe it’s the years of denial or the fact that I’m tired of this just being a flirty game, but I reach my hand out and rest it atop his upper thigh as I lean in close to him. “I deliver even bigger.”
His mouth twitches. “Fuck me.”
I drop my voice. “I meant it. We should try again.”
His hand tightens on the bottle, tendons flexing. He holds my gaze, the teasing stripped back, something raw showing through. “You sure you’re not just bored, Adrienne?”
The jab is soft, but I feel the bruise of it anyway, echoes of all the times I’ve come running to him when things didn’t work out for me. I could deflect. Laugh. Flirt. Instead, I swallow and answer honestly. “I’m sure.”
His eyes move over my face, cataloging. “And your ballplayer?”
There it is. Keegan’s ghost between us again, polite as ever and unwanted as hell. I sit taller. “I told you that’s over. A while ago.”
The words hang there. He doesn’t look away.
He shifts, thigh brushing mine deliberately now. “You’re gonna kill me,” he says.
“Probably.” I wet my lower lip, and his gaze flicks down like a reflex. “Worth it, though.”
“Fuck.” It comes out strangled, but I can see him losing the battle.
I can feel the ground we’re standing on tilt toward something that can’t be undone. I don’t move. Neither does he. That inch between our mouths stretches tight as wire.
“Scotty!” Trent’s voice slices clean across the yard, loud and clear. “You got a second?”
Scotty’s jaw clenches, then he shakes his head with a low laugh. “Of course, he calls now.”
“It’s fine,” I say, breathless.
He leans in closer, just enough that his warm breath skims my cheek. He presses the bottle into my hand. His fingers skim the inside of my thigh as he does, a slow, deliberate stroke where the slit leaves me bare. Heat rockets through me so fast I have to grip the glass.
“Hold this for me, darlin,” he says, voice low enough to be a sin. “I’ll be right back.”
He straightens, reaching down to not so subtly adjust himself in his jeans, and then he steps away, leaving my nerves sparking like pine sap in the fire.
Across the yard, Trent gestures toward the barn, talking numbers with Ranger while Scotty listens, nodding like a normal human who wasn’t about to destroy me on a bench. People weave between them, passing plates, shouting jokes. The world goes on.
I take a swallow of his beer, and I swear I can taste him on the rim, which is absolutely ridiculous. My leg tingles where his fingers brushed, a phantom imprint that pulses in time with my heartbeat.
“You okay?”
