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"Totally. Let me just put a closed sign on the door, and you can take me right here," she said, placing her hand on the center of the counter, leaning forward, almost resting her tits on the surface.
"In front of all these people? I knew you were a freak, Jazz," I said with a wink.
"Go get a table while it's free," she said, rolling her eyes as she reached for the twenty I passed her. "And I'm keeping the rest of this as a tip for having to put up with your sexual harassment."
"All yours. Put it in for Momoa. Hunnam is overrated."
The girls kept two tip jars on the counter in front of the register. Every day, there was a picture above each, and you 'casted your vote' for which was better by putting your tip money in the corresponding jar.
"Right?" she asked, dropping the fifteen into a picture of him with a trident. "Blond guys just don't do it for me."
"One more thing in my favor," I agreed, giving her a smirk, and moving away to the one empty table she had indicated.
I was never going to fuck Jazz.
We both knew that.
That being said, it was just in both our natures to keep up the game.
I sat down, whipping out my phone to check some shit out, when a movement at my side caught my eye.
All I saw was something shiny and, maybe perhaps a bit paranoid being a gun runner, it made me tense up until I turned and realized it was a huge silver bracelet on a dainty wrist. Intrigued all the more, my eyes moved up her arm then neck, to find her face.
And fuck.
Leaving the compound was worth it if I could bring her back to bed with me. No desperation. All possibility.
And I really, really like the possibility of fucking her from behind while taking a hold of her long blonde hair, and pulling.
Pretty would be an understatement.
Hell, gorgeous might not even have covered it
Beautiful would be the only working descriptor for a woman who looked like her with her perfectly symmetrical features, nose that turned up ever-so-slightly at the end, big cornflower blue eyes, and lips that were begging for all kinds of dirty things to happen with them.
It didn't exactly escape my notice either that she wasn't my usual type, if I had such a thing. I was generally a pretty 'equal opportunity' kind of guy when it came to women. But there was, overall, definitely a tendency to go for women a little on the easy side both looks and attitude-wise.
This girl didn't scream easy. In fact, there wasn't even a whisper of it around her.
Everything from her perfectly tamed hair to her expertly applied makeup to her carefully chosen sundress that screamed sexy even though it was modest, told you that she wasn't the kind of girl who fucked some backstreet guy like me.
This was also evidenced by the suit across from her at her table. There was nothing distinct about him. He was good looking enough with plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, and bland voice. Everything was neat, trimmed, shaved, and in order. Typical suit.
The music being how Jazz liked it, meaning loud to the point of deafening, even though they were only an arm's length away, I couldn't make out what was being said. The guy was dominating the conversation though, prattling on and on as the girl sat back in her seat, cradling a reusable ceramic coffee cup with #girlboss written across the side in gold, matching the golden silicone top. Her face seemed at odds with itself. Her brows were raised as though whatever the guy was saying was somehow pissing her off, but her eyes looked a little deflated, maybe even desperate.
Girl like that looking deflated or desperate was a mother fucking sin.
Then, as if a cue from a higher power that I needed to make a move, the suit stood up, dropped a twenty on the table, touched the girl's wrist, and walked toward the door.
Me, well, I couldn't help myself, could I?
"You fucking serious?" I asked, loud enough to be heard over the music, making her head snap over, brows drawn together in confusion. "I mean, you take those tits, that ass, those legs, those lips, and what I can only assume is a prime USDA pussy and put it in his hands? Tell me, does he even finger fuck you, or is he too worried about his goddamn manicure?"
Those lips of hers opened and closed twice before she gave her head a little shake as if to clear it.
"Excuse me?"
There it was.
Loved that haughty shit.
My smile spread slow and wicked as I leaned slightly forward toward her. "You heard me just fine. And, what's more, you didn't deny it. Tell you what, you want a real man to take care of you, pet, you walk that pretty ass of yours down the street. There's a party going on. You can't miss it. I'll be there. You find me, and I'll show how much I love eating something USDA prime."
