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She nods. "Life forces you to be a square." She taps the table with her French-manicured nails. "I never was punk rock, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't grow up to be this."
"A woman with a badass teddy bear tattoo who invites guys out to bars for one-night stands?"
She laughs. "An executive assistant. But that too." She takes a long sip of her glass. "It's funny. This would have been a nightmare job to be at fifteen. But I love it."
"I know what you mean."
"And the other part... I think my past self would be proud."
"Yeah?"
"But you give yourself too much credit. I haven't decided if I'm sleeping with you or not."
That's bullshit. It's in her eyes. She's picturing me naked. She's even licking her lips.
It's not my personality or my conversational skills.
At the moment, I'm a terrible date.
But I can't muster up the enthusiasm to do better.
I finish the last drop of my whiskey.
I try to find something to latch onto.
She runs her fingers over the neckline of her tight, black dress. It hugs her tits in a way that should beg for my hands.
Only it doesn't.
I shoot her a sly smile. "You sure about that?"
Her laugh is flirty but nervous.
Her eyes spark.
She's reacting to me.
She wants me.
That used to be enough.
Pretty and willing used to be enough.
I've always been eager to get out of my head.
But now...
Her fingers wrap around my wrist. She's reaching out. Touching me. Making sure I know she wants me.
This is the part where I touch her back.
Where I smile and whisper something about what we'll do at her place.
But, fuck, her hand feels so wrong on my arm.
There's no way it will feel good around my cock.
There's no way I'm inviting myself back to her place.
