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“So if Jordan asks you out, you’ll say yes?”
I shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
“But if you’re not into him, why bother?”
“Because I could be wrong, not to mention the one guy I wish would ask me out on a date won’t ever do so.” That’s right, I’d moved past the point of being able to sugarcoat it any longer. He didn’t get to throw mixed signals and have me not voice my frustration.
He sighed a heavy breath at my admission and looked like he was about to say something.
I held up a hand to cut him off, sensing he was only going to apologize yet again. “Please spare me the ‘Kenz, I didn’t mean to, blah, blah, fill in the blank.’ I’m a big girl who regrets nothing, but I’m being honest, and if you don’t like it, too bad.”
I put my chin in my hand as I turned toward the window, refusing to talk about it any longer. Truth was that over the last three weeks I’d been waiting for something more to happen, but now that it hadn’t, I wasn’t sure I was willing to be the girl who waited any longer. I wanted more.
“Did you wear those granny panties tonight?”
Okay, this was definitely not what I had expected him to say. I whipped my head in his direction. “What?”
“Your panties. I told you to wear granny style. Did you?”
“I always wear the same kind, unless it’s that time of month—never mind—total TMI.” I blushed with the inadvertent over-share.
He laughed. “It was, but I like that about us. Would you wear special panties for a first date?”
I shook my head, wondering where this was going. “A first date doesn’t rate special panties so I’d most likely wear the same kind I have on tonight.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “And what kind is that?”
The power of being able to turn him on with the course of this conversation emboldened me. Reaching under my dress, I fingered the lace of my thong.
“What are you doing?” He rapidly looked back and forth between the road and my lap.
I moved my other hand under my dress, hooking my thumbs on either side of my panties, and then made a show out of pulling them down and off from around my ankles. Holding them up, I smirked. “See? A regular lacy black thong. Nothing special.”
He exhaled harshly. “Christ, I can smell your pussy.”
“I’m going to ask a dumb, potentially mood-killing question. Is that a good or bad thing?”
He grinned. “It makes me want to put my face in it and not come up for days.”
“I thought you said you weren’t doing that again.” I desired him more than anything, however my pride wasn’t letting him off the hook easily this time around.
He closed his eyes, looking conflicted. “We shouldn’t.”
“Mm, okay. Then you won’t mind if I take care of myself.” I put my hand under my dress, noting he wasn’t exactly begging for me to put my panties back on.
“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice sounded pained while his gaze darted from the road back to me.
“What do you think?”
“You’re torturing me here,” he muttered.
“Mm, I think if I truly wished to torture you, I’d flip my dress up and allow you to watch.”
“Show me,” he demanded.
“Nope. I think you’ll have to use your imagination until you can make up your damn mind about what it is that you want.” Closing my eyes, I trailed a finger through my arousal up to my clit, imagining it was him.
“Are you wet?” his throaty voice rasped out.
