Page 94 of Wishing Hearts

If he’s going to torture me, I might as well give it back just as good.

Sam leans into the touch. He does love it when I stroke him like a cat.

“How’s Tilda doing?” I ask.

Sam lets out a laugh at the serious question, and his fingers tighten on my leg. “She’s good. Has a new grandbaby she’s been fussin’ over. She’s sent me a million pics. Wanna see?”

I nod, and Sam pulls his phone from his pocket. He shows me pictures of the baby, and then he tells me about Carl’s new neighbor, who was scared of Rosie before she realized how much of a sweetheart the bully mix is. I fill him in on work and how Deborah installed a new fence to keep the deer out of her garden. And for the next hour and a half, Sam and I talk about benign topics, pretending we aren’t edging each other under the table. Pretending our hands aren’t wandering and that we aren’t both getting progressively more desperate to be alone.

By the time we finish our second round of beers, I’m ready to crack. I need this man in me or on me or under me.

But Sam lifts his hand from my leg right before I can beg him to get me out of here already. “Be right back,” he says. “I’m gonna hit the head.”

I make a split-second decision and grab his arm, my pulse firing. “Do you…want company?”

Heat and understanding flare in Sam’s eyes, but he shakes his head slowly. “Not this time, stud. I’ve got plans for you.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” I ask, liking the sound of that way too much.

Sam nods, leaning close. “Mhm. And believe me—you’re really gonna like what I have in store.”

I don’t doubt it.

Sam gives me a wicked grin, and then he’s scooting out of the booth. I watch him go, cock stiff, chest warm.

I think, quite possibly, I want to know all of Sam’s plans for the two of us, both near and far. I think I’m going to like them a lot.

Chapter 26

Sammy

I have to wait a good couple minutes for my dick to calm down enough to pee, but once I manage it, I wash my hands quickly and head back out to the bar. There’s a massive grin on my face, anticipation simmering heavy in my gut as I think about all the dirty, wonderful things I’m going to do to Harrison tonight. But the moment I catch sight of my boyfriend being boxed into our booth by a cute little twink, that grin falls right off my face.

Harrison is laughing, and the slender blonde is smiling much too wide, his hand on the arm Harrison has thrown along the top of the booth.

Oh, nuh-uh. Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

I’m striding over without a single hesitation, not slowing until I’m directly beside the blonde. I’ve never been one to throw my size around, and I don’t do it now. But I do stand my ground, staring down the man as his head turns my way, eyes wide. “Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re gonna have to move along. This one’s mine.”

I don’t clarify if I mean the booth or the man inside of it, but I don’t think I need to.

The guy blinks at me, a smile, of all things, spreading across his face. He looks back at Harrison. “Oh, he growls.”

I’m about to growl again when the blonde removes his hand from Harrison’s arm. He steps back and gestures me in.

“All yours,” he says.

I slip into the booth, retaking my seat next to Harrison, who’s looking at me with big, blinking blue eyes. I give the blonde another glance—okay, glare—and he chuckles before stepping away.

“Bye, Harrison. Have a good night,” he practically sings.

“See you, Evan,” Harrison returns.

The silence is heavy once Evan is gone, and I run my finger along the condensation left on the tabletop from my beer.

“Sam,” Harrison says lightly.

“You know him?” I ask, throat tight.

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