Page 62 of Winter Wishlist
“Sorry, I don’t think I quite caught that.” My eyes narrow. Between his slicked back hair and salon tan, he’s the poster boy for investment scams, a Wall Street wannabe with a knock-off wristwatch.
How Mia ended up with this guy is unfathomable. I hate that she thought for one second he was in any way worthy of breathing the same air as her.
He laughs. “Come on, man. You know what I’m talking about. A girl like her…”
“I’d be careful about what you’re planning to say next.” My jaw clenches tight.
“We both know their type. Girls like Mia pretend to be one thing, but they’re really just faking the wholewholesomeact.”
Christ, I want to feel this guy’s nose cartilage crunch beneath my fist.
“What did she tell you, huh? The sad little story about being orphaned? Did she pull out the one about being a librarian who likes to spend her time at home with her nose in a book?”
“Dale, isn’t it?” I lean forward, my height looming over him, and he spills a little of that cheap chardonnay down his stupid turtleneck. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t even bother coming up to me right now. I’m gonna do you a solid and forget you ever tried speaking to me. And I’m gonna give you exactly five seconds to get the fuck out of my face.”
“Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’ll be nothing but a clingy headache you can’t get rid of.” He sneers, but steps back all the same.
“You wanna find out what happens when those five seconds are up?” I keep my voice measured, just low enough for him to hear. “You know what? I should be thanking you, really. Losing Mia was the best decision you could’ve ever made. You did me a favor.” Reaching out with a heavy palm, I slap him on the shoulder. Wine sloshes everywhere, dribbling down his khaki pants and onto his sneakers.
Turning back to the bar, I don’t bother paying the fuck face any more attention. The bartender has already slid a bottle of whiskey my way, and I hold up three fingers for the number of glasses. “It’s already on your tab, Landon.” He gives me a nod.
“Thanks, and Merry Christmas, guys. Add a round on there for the bar staff working tonight if you haven’t already.”
As I make my way over to Henri and Mia, I can’t stop thinking about what she told me that first night, how her ex was never affectionate in public. That he kept her a secret.
It makes my blood boil, and there couldn’t be a better time than to show her exactly how serious we are about enjoying her company in public.
“They’re playing our song, baby.” I set the bottle and glasses down on the table, and catch Mia’s waist. She spins around with a bright smile, gasping in surprise. “Let's dance.” My voice is a little rough-edged with the need to get my hands on her still running hot through my veins.
I pull Mia with me to the floor, where other couples are already enjoying the music. It’s upbeat, but croony enough that some are boot scootin’ around while others simply sway on the spot. She giggles and pulls Henri along behind her, while the rugby team wolf whistle loudly.
Fuck it, Mia deserves to be shown affection. She is worthy of being openly and loudly admired. I don’t care if she truly only thinks this is fake, a bit of fun, nothing more than a fling.
Actually, that’s a lie.
I do care. More than I can put words to, as I enjoy the image of her swaying and swinging her hips in those jeans perfectly molded to her lush thighs and peachy ass. I care about Mia in a way that defies any reason or sense, considering we first met in that bookstore two days ago.
Henri’s hand slips around her stomach, tattooed fingers splaying in a possessive hold to band her tight against him, while both of them face me. His other hand reaches out to hook a finger through the belt loop on my jeans, dragging me close.
Mia smiles up at me before lifting the hat to put it on Henri’s head so that she can rest hers against his chest, rocking in time with the steady thud of the speakers.
Looking down at Mia, there’s only one thought on a constant loop inside my mind.
We’re definitely keeping her.
My only problem is, I gotta figure out how to convince her that we’re worth the risk. That maybe she might look at us, and be willing to upend her life, to take us on as a package deal.
Henri and I are already all in, but will our girl think of us as being worthy of her?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Me:
Question…
How many orgasms are too many orgasms in the space of forty-eight hours?
Keri:
