Page 25 of Just Playin'
I gasp, surprised he’s conforming to my ways so quickly. He doesn’t give off pushover vibes. From the stories he shared tonight, most of the alpha machoism Dalton exhibited the night he met Becca was learned from Elvis, so I expected more fighting spirit, or, at the very least, a sneer.
I get both when his lips tickle my earlobe and he snarls, “Just like if Iwantto drag you out of here over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, Icould, and there’s nothing you could do about it.”
Jesus—how can I misconstrue that?The need in his voice is so extreme, a bead of sweat rolls down my back. It’s absorbed by my panties, which are just as sticky.
Before my chest can bristle in confusion, Elvis adds stacks of wood to the fire he’s building. “Now follow me outside before I go all caveman on his ass.”
I slant back far enough I can see his eyes. They’re narrowed with anger and blistering with a glint I can’t quite identify.
Although I’m a mix of confusion and excitement, I can’t help but say, “You’re being a buffoon. He’s notinterested in me. I just used him as an example.”
While scooting out of our booth, Elvis digs his wallet out of his pocket. He tosses a bundle of crisp notes onto our recently delivered bill, then his eyes stray to the gentleman in question. “Oh, he’s interested alright. He’s nearly busting a nut just looking at you. I think the schmuck needs to be taught a lesson about what happens when you mosey in on a girl while she’s on a date.”
Date? When did this become a date?
When Elvis heads in the stranger’s direction, I remain frozen, too shocked to move. I’m usually pretty clued on, but tonight I’m utterly dumbfounded. I guess the plot within minutes of the start of a movie; I know who the killer is long before the on-screen detectives do, and I knew I was going to crush hard on Elvis well before I spun around to face him, but this is a one-eighty I never saw coming.
Elvis is a brute of a man with enough testosterone to light the city, but I never pictured him as the jealous type. He was so laidback tonight, I was beginning to wonder if he had a competitive bone in his body. Then I realized my error. You don’t need to be competitive when there’s no one to compete against.
When Elvis’s long strides end next to the man I used to make a point, I snag my backpack from my seat and race his way. I’m reasonably sure he won’t do anything, but considering tonight is only our second meeting, I’m not willing to test out another theory. The throbbing veins in Elvis’s arms is concerning enough, so I don’t want more mess thrown into the shitstorm I’d like to avoid.
“The pizza was great. Thanks for the wonderful service,” I mumble to our waitress before hooking my arm around Elvis’s elbow and dragging him toward the exit.
It’s lucky I skipped weights this morning because it takes all my strength to move him, and even then, I still feel like I’m lugging a crane. At this rate, I’ll need to exchange some of the medication Elvis purchased me last week to buy hemorrhoid cream.
“Holy fishcakes, are you a lunatic?! Who goes all jack-rabbit crazy like that so quickly?” I break away from Elvis’s side when we reach the gravel parking lot at the back of Mickey’s. “Did you forget to take your medication today? I don’t recommend doubling up, but I also wouldn’t recommend skipping your loony pills tomorrow. You went from normal to fucked up in under three seconds. Who does that?”
My belligerent rant is abandoned when Elvis asks, “But you left with me, didn’t you?”
I still as commotion stirs in my gut.
He smiles, loving my stumped state. “That was the point, wasn’t it? You wanted proof of how Becca arrived with a date but left with Dalton.” He waves his hand to the glass door I just barged him through. “Evidence submitted. Case closed. I won.”
“Oh. My. God!” I pace closer to him, unsure whether to kiss the mirth off his face or smack it off. I settle on words instead of a physical response. “You’re an asshole. I seriously thought you were going to deck him.”
His face does a weird twitchy thing. “It was close, especially when he handed me this.”
My mouth falls open when he thrusts a Mickey’s Pizzeria napkin my way. It has a name and number scrawled across it.
“Wow, he has bigger balls than I thought. He’s either very brave or extremely stupid to hand a man his number to forward to his date.”
Elvis flops his head to the side in a seriously cute way. “Date?”
“Oh, puh-leeze. You can’t go there, as you said ‘date’ first.” I begin pacing to my university by walking backward. “But if this isn’t a date, and we’re just friends sharing a slice, cough up the napkin, because this girl hasneedsthat need to be taken care of.”
Elvis looks seconds from having a coronary when I grind my hips in a way only a stripper should while running my hands up my body. Although he doesn’t react to my tease, the scrunching of the napkin and its plonk into a trash can on his right is answer enough.
“Nice shot.” The balled napkin didn’t even hit the rim; it just glided between the silver circle, his shot a perfect three-pointer.
Elvis’s wink is as flirty as the smile on my face. While bridging the gap between us, which takes him all of two seconds with how long his strides are, he digs a cap out of the back pocket of his jeans and sinks it down low on his head. I nearly gag when I see the emblem on the top. It’s a 69ers cap.
“Do you often bring a hat to adate?” Yep—I’m going there. In this very instance, I’m in love with the word, and I don’t care if the world knows it.
The moonlight glistens on his teeth when he smiles a sultry grin. “Not often, but I didn’t know this was adateuntil an hour ago.”
“An hour. . .? Wow. You knew a good fifty-nine minutes before me.” I bump him with my hip before crossing the patch of weedy grass between Mickey’s Pizzeria and the border of my university. “But in all seriousness, what’s with the cap?”
I end my sentence in just enough time, saving me the embarrassment of expressing what I really want to ask:why would you ever hide a face that sexy?
