Page 33 of Bet on It

“Thank you,” he gushed. “This feels fucking amazing.”

Aja giggled—the twist in his chest started feeling familiar. “I bet it does. You shot up out of that seat like you’d just won the lottery.”

“Getting that bingo might be the best thing I’ve ever felt.” It was an exaggeration—kind of, maybe—but he was dazed.

She raised her eyebrows, surprised stamped on her face. But she made no comment.

“You want to get out of here then?” she asked him. “Or did you want to stick around and see if you can get another win?”

Walker looked at his watch; it was already nearing half past eight. Even in his excitement, he wanted to be around her—maybe even especially in his excitement. He still needed to get her home at a reasonable hour, and the odds of him getting two bingos on the same night were incredibly slim.

“Yeah.” He started gathering up his sheets. “Let’s get out of here.”

It only took a few minutes to collect Walker’s winnings, all three hundred dollars of it. And when they stepped outside into the thick summer air, his body hummed with satisfaction.

Their cars were parked right next to each other in the back of the sparsely populated parking lot. Aja leaned against the back door of her car, arms crossed as she looked at him.

“Where do you want to go eat?” She spoke softly, like she was scared of disturbing the peace around her. Aside from the crickets, it was quieter outside than it was indoors.

Staring at her, his mind went blank. How was he supposed to think about food when his already persistent elation was bolstered by everything about her—sight, sound, even just the possibility of her?

His legs propelled him forward until he was standing so close that he could make out the tiny, dark mole on the underside of her chin. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her chest expanded as her breaths drew in deeper.

His resolution to stay her friend be damned—Walker felt bold. Not bold like some asshole guy in a movie who kisses a woman without her permission. But bold like a different kind of guy, in a different kind of movie, who was about to tell a woman that he wanted her. Who was ready to put his desires on Front Street, knowing she could crash those desires with one quick flick of her tongue.

“I don’t know if I’m feelin’ hungry anymore.” Not for food anyway, which he didn’t dare tell her—not yet, not until he was positive that she wanted to hear it from him.

“Oh.” Her brows furrowed. “Well, that’s all right, I have food at home.…”

“Are you hungry right now, Aja? Like right now?”

If she was, he’d take her to get whatever the hell she wanted. Sit across from her while she ate her fill, send her on her way, and be content with it. Sure, he’d go home and jerk his dick until it was sore at the thought of her, but what else was new? But if she wasn’t hungry, if she was open to something else… that was different.

“I mean, I’m not starving or anything yet. But I thought…” she trailed off.

“I am hungry,” he assured her. “I’m just not hungry for food.”

He could see the exact moment the realization dawned on her. His breath stuck in his chest as he waited for her reaction.

It was dark, but the sky was lit up with twinkling stars that, paired with the streetlamps, illuminated her perfectly. The roundness of her face, the slope of her nose, the weight in her eyelids. Everything about her was clear and open for him to take in.

She drew her top lip into her mouth, gnashing her teeth into it before releasing it again, wetter and more swollen. Her eyes were as dark and alluring as ever, but Walker could see something else in their depths. Something he knew was reflected in his own gaze—need, longing, good old-fashioned want.

“What are you hungry for, exactly?” she asked in that sweet way of hers. Voice soft and floaty.

He stepped even nearer, until his sneakers were toe-to-toe with her sandals. He made sure not to step on her pretty little toes, but even this felt good. Touching her but not touching her—being close. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but it could be. If it ended up being the closest she ever allowed him to be, he could make something of it. His dreams would still be filled with her. Thoughts of his hands on her soft skin, of her body pressed up against him, of the sweet, wet grip of her around him. If these things could only ever come to fruition in his fantasies, he could live with that. So long as he had this to feed it. The type of tension that could only exist between people who wanted madly, desperately, but couldn’t—shouldn’t—act on it. So, they settled for sitting a little too close or looking a little too long.

That was part of the fun, wasn’t it? Walker had never considered himself an expert in this department. But he figured sexual tension was more poetic when it was unresolved anyway. At least that was what he told himself in preparation for rejection.

Aja might be turned on by him, might walk on the same horny tightrope he found himself on whenever he was around her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t also understand why flipping the switch on their friendship might not be the best idea. Aja was smart. Maybe—almost certainly—smarter than him. And maybe she didn’t find herself as overcome as he did.

“I’m hungry for you.” The words were ragged, born completely out of the burning inside him.

She blew out the breath of someone who had been sucker punched in the gut.

“Are you hungry for me?” He was unable to stop himself from asking.

“Oh God.…” She shut her eyes, her shoulders falling back against her car, steadying herself. “Remember when we were at Kenny Mack’s, and I said that thing about you claiming me as your winner’s prize?”

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