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We put in our entrée order, both of us having chosen the house fried chicken, collards and cornbread. Mia picked it first, and I just said ‘same’, which our waiter hardly noticed since he couldn’t take his fucking eyes off my dinner companion.
Conversation just…flowed. Mia blushed and her eyes sparkled, bright and eager as each topic blossomed then changed to the next exciting thing. Meanwhile, she sat there and bought at least three of my books that I noticed while she scanned through Amazon.
“This was a great idea,” Mia said while pushing away her mostly empty plate.
I was impressed she’d managed to almost finish the whole damn thing. I was bloated off the portion I had, and I was twice her fucking size.
“Let’s do it again,” she added, winking at me, those beers making her saucy.
“Mia, darling, I think you’re sloshed.”
“Am not,” she protested, waving her hand around as she slid out of her chair, wobbly on her legs. “Geez, feet, way to make me look bad!”
I barked a laugh, which made her beam and grin back at me.
“Good thing you’re driving, huh?”
“Right. I’ll get you home safe and sound. Just don’t tell your girlfriends who you were getting drunk with.”
“Oh, Clea would love it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And that’s exactly why I’m not going to tell her.”
I didn’t touch that one. Instead, I put my arm around her shoulder, wondering how the hell she’s so tipsy after two measly beers while I led her from the bar.
“I’m sorry, Owen,” Mia said, blushing again. “I don’t drink very often.”
“I can tell,” I murmured, amused as hell by the girl on my arm.
She was quiet as I opened the passenger door and held her hand while she dropped down into the seat with a plop.
When her hand left mine so I could close the door, it kind of felt like ripping off a Bandaid. Damn near hurt as she turned those bloody hazel eyes on me and followed it up with a thankful smile.
I shut the door in her face, breaking away for a second before I went around to my own seat, taking several deep breaths to shake off whatever weird fog was settling in around me to even look at the girl the way I was. Maybe it was the booze.
The hard-on I’d had in my office earlier shouted out the falsity of that, but I didn't want to listen, so I believed whatever bullshit I wanted to.
“You know…” Mia started saying, pressing her hand against my shoulder until the car slammed on its breaks ahead of me, forcing me to do the same.
The girl’s body, still wobbly with beer jerked forward, her hand bounced off my shoulder, slid down my chest and…
“Oh my God!” Mia shrieked, her fucking hand cupping my semi.
Legit cupping.
Balls and all.
She jerked her hand away like she’d been bit, and that semi I’d managed to beat down was back to full attention.
“I’m so sorry,” she cried again, covering her face with her hands like she could disappear into the seat.
“It was an accident,” I practically growled.
I wasn’t mad. Not at all. I was fucking turned on and there wasn’t a wet pussy anywhere in my near future to ease it with.
The car went totally silent for the last couple minutes until we made it to campus.
“Which building?” I asked her, hoping to just forget about the little feel up and move back into familiar ground.
“Hasting’s-Simmon’s,” was her response, eyes closed, probably still trying to disappear.
