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“You’ve started without me, I see.” His lips twitch. “Don’t tell me this is going to be a repeat of last weekend?”
Damn it. I hate the way his eyes change color when he’s amused about something, because it makes it really hard to think up a witty comeback.
“For that to happen we’d need a stripper pole and someone who’s familiar with ping-pong balls,” I joke.
“That can be arranged,” he murmurs.
I don’t have the nerve to ask which of my requests he’s referring to, so I keep my mouth shut.
“Without sounding offensive.” He hesitates, his gaze wandering over my dress. “I think you’d blend in more in a rug warehouse than a strip club.”
I groan. “It’s hideous, isn’t it?”
“The dress, yes. But you’d look good wearing a cardboard box, so why would a floor rug be any different?” He grins as I narrow my eyes. I’m trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not. “How about I get a drink and we sit down? I could use something stiff.”
So could I.
I giggle to myself as he orders a whiskey, then we carry our drinks over to a vacant table. I sit down and wrap my hands around my glass, those pesky nerves I swore would never return, back with a vengeance.
“No tequila tonight?” he says with an amused look. “It’s unforgiving, if you’re not used to it,” he adds.
“I’m aware of that.” I sniff. “You’d be surprised to learn that wasn’t my first dance with tequila.”
“Oh?”
I narrow my eyes at his lopsided grin and then I nod.
“Back in high school I was a bit of a wild child.”
“I can’t even imagine,” he murmurs.
“Yes, you’re lucky you weren’t teaching me back then,” I say, lifting my drink to my lips. “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have been able to handle me.”
“Yes, there are laws about that,” he agrees, his eyes burning through me. “So, what happened?”
“It was a Saturday night; my friend Laura was staying over while my parents were away at some retreat.” I pause. In hindsight, that retreat was probably a sex camp. I shudder. “Laura dared me to drink a whole bottle of tequila. So I did.”
“Do you always do what you people ask you to do?”
“I guess it depends how much I want to prove something to someone.” He raises his eyebrows at that, which makes me smile. “Or what I stand to get out of it.”
“So, an entire bottle of tequila and no ill side effects? I’m impressed.” He grins.
I blush. “Well, I did end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. My parents weren’t thrilled about having their weekend interrupted.”
“So how long was it until you drank again?” he asks.
“The following weekend?” I grin. “I went through a six-week phase where I wanted to be like the cool kids and drink every weekend. The rest of my teenage years I barely touched alcohol.”
“What changed?” he asks.
“I guess I grew up? I realized that being the same as everyone else was overrated. It’s much more fun being Becca.” I grin.
“I bet it is.” He laughs. “You’re full of stories, aren’t you?”
“Aren’t we all?” I shrug. “It’s just some are more interesting than others.”
“I guess that’s true.”
He reaches across the table for my hand, taking it in his. My body jolts at the feel of his touch and as his fingers circle my skin, I want more. I spread my fingers apart and entwine them with his, my eyes not leaving his. My heart races, because his touch is electric. If I feel this from a simple hand touch, how am I going to feel when he’s inside me? I swallow and clench my thighs together at the thought of his thick, stiff cock sliding into my pussy…
I reach for my wine and gulp it down, while Liam watches with amusement.
“Are you okay? You look a little…flushed.”
“Must be the alcohol,” I say, laughing nervously.
It certainly isn’t my dirty mind.
“So, where do you think this story is headed?”
“You mean us?” I ask.
He nods. “There’s no denying we have an attraction, but do you feel something more?”
“Why else would I be here?”
I stare into his eyes, trying to work out what he’s thinking.
“For Jake?” he queries.
“If Jake were the only reason, then I’d have arranged Grammy an Uber and flown to Vegas.”
“An expensive trip and the poor driver never worked again,” Liam jokes.
He picks up his whiskey and swallows it down while I watch, strangely turned on at the sight of his jaw twitching. When he’s done, he reaches for my hand, so he’s holding both of them.
“I’m glad you asked me out,” he says softly. “I wanted to ask you, but I didn’t want you to feel like I was pressuring you.”
“I don’t feel that at all.” I frown.
I know there are rules about teachers fraternizing with students, but given my age, surely they would allow for exceptional circumstances or something? I’d only met the president of the university a handful of times, but he seemed reasonable enough, despite nearly all of those meetings taking place after I’d messed up in a fairly major way.
