I take another sip.
She looks at me, all casual and sweet like she doesn’t know she’s absolutely ruining me. Like she isn’t the reason I’m listing moldy leftovers in my head just so I can try to walk out of this booth without my dick announcing itself to the entire bar.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, hard.
Her hand clamps down on my forearm. “Let’s go. I want to kick your ass at pool.”
I let out a dry, strangled laugh. “Yeah. Okay.”
Sure. Let’s do that. Let’s go walk through the bar with a very obvious problem in my pants.
She doesn’t even wait. Just grabs my arm and starts hauling me to the back, her drink in one hand, her confidence in full swing.
“Come on, cowboy,” she throws over her shoulder.
And all I can think is:I cannot stand up like this. I cannot stand up like this. Oh fuck, I’m standing up like this.
I adjust my shirt. Subtly. Casually. Panicking inside.
I trail behind her, drink in hand, jaw clenched tight enough it’s starting to ache. That skirt is a goddamn problem—riding up with every step, showing off skin I’ve already memorized and still can’t stop looking at. She moves like she knows I’m watching. Like she wants me to.
She’s halfway across the bar before I realize I’ve slowed down just to take her in.
I’m not the only one. Heads turn. Eyes linger. Some asshole near the dartboard doesn’t even try to hide it—lets his gaze slide right down her legs and stay there.
I close the space between us, every step steady. Controlled. I don’t need to make a scene to make a point. I just need her close. My hand brushes her lower back, just enough to let her know I’m here. Just enough to let every other bastard in this place know she’s not on her own.
Not tonight.
Not ever, if I have anything to say about it.
“It’s cute you think you’re gonna win,” I murmur, stepping in behind her as she lines up a shot, cue already in her grip.
She glances back, one brow arched, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Confidence looks good on me.”
I take the cue from her hand, slow enough that my fingers brush hers. “Let’s make it interesting.”
Her eyes flick to mine. Curious. Cautious. Game. “How interesting?”
I lean in. Close enough to catch the hitch in her breath. My hand skims her thigh, sliding beneath the hem of that little skirt she should’ve known would drive me insane. My grip settles on her hip, steady and sure, and I let my mouth drop to her ear.
“If I win,” I say, voice low and even, “we head to the bathroom. I lock the door. And I get my hands—and mouth—on every inch of you.”
She shifts, barely. Like the idea isn’t offending her at all. “Thebathroom?”
“Private enough,” I say, squeezing her hip. “And fast. I’m not in the mood to wait.”
She studies me like she’s trying to catch me bluffing. “What if someone walks in?”
I shake my head once. “They won’t. And if they do, they’ll be too late.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip like she’s considering something dangerous. “And if I win?”
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, steady as ever. “Then I’m yours. Do whatever you want. No rules.”
She stares a beat longer. Then crosses her arms like she’s sealing a contract. “You’re either overconfident or really into public sex.”
I grin. Slow. Certain. “Maybe both.”
