The team whoops as Leander’s eyes narrow. I drop a shot into the beer glass, watching it fizzle over the brim.
I pick up the glass and press it to Leander’s lips. “Open up, Leander.”
Leander’s eyes blaze with something I can’t quite place. But whatever it is, it’s fucking delicious.
His full mouth opens, downing the drink steadily as our team cheers him on. The beer overflows down his neck, soaking the top of his t-shirt. But his eyes never look away from mine.
When he finishes, I pull the glass away and smirk down at him. “You really don’t like losing, do you?” and let it linger, a whisper, a challenge.
Around us, the team was oblivious to the subtle battle I was waging. To everyone else, it was just another night celebrating. But for me, it was a chessboard, and Leander had just become my favorite piece to move.
Leander pulls his chin from my hand, wiping the beer from his mouth as I slide back into the seat next to him.
“You know,” I murmur, leaning just enough so only he can hear, “for someone who claims not to care about impressing anyone, you’re doing a really good job of keeping my attention.”
He stiffens slightly, almost imperceptible, but enough for me to notice. A flicker of tension. A crack in that calm, measured exterior he always carries.
“I’m not trying to impress you,” he says, voice low, controlled.
“Sure,” I say with a shrug and a sly grin. “I didn’t even realize I was watching you until you started standing out. Kind of distracting, actually.”
I lean back in the seat, feigning disinterest while my hand slides low and casual beneath the table. The chatter and laughter above us is a perfect cover—no one’s looking, no one’s paying attention. My knee brushes against Leander’s first. Just a tap, testing. His thigh shifts minutely, a twitch he probably hopes no one notices.
That’s all the invitation I need.
I press again, slow, deliberate, letting the contact linger. My fingers trail across the fabric of his jeans, light enough to be deniable, heavy enough that he knows it’s deliberate. His jaw tightens. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t push me away. But I see a flush growing up his neck.
He shifts just a fraction in his seat, jaw tightening. Good. I let my fingers trail just a little lower under the table, brushing his thigh lightly, careful to stay hidden.
“You always this… untouchable?” I ask softly.
Leander tries to shift away from me, but I grab his knee, pulling it back to me.
He scoffs but doesn’t pull away. “I’m… careful.”
I chuckle under my breath, letting my hand linger, just enough for him to feel it. “Careful’s good,” I whisper, leaning closer. “But sometimes careful is boring. Don’t you think?”
My fingertips skate along his thigh, tracing idle shapes. Circles. A slow drag upward. When I reach halfway, I pause, hovering like I’m about to retreat. He exhales through his nose,sharp, and it fuels me. I press higher. The warmth radiating off him makes my own pulse throb in my throat.
Nobody notices. Jax is busy retelling a bad joke, laughter exploding around us. But under the table, it’s just me and Leander. My knuckles graze the inside of his leg, then slide back down, retreating just enough to make him think it’s over. But then I return—higher this time. His breath catches, so quiet I almost miss it.
The tension is intoxicating. I imagine the restraint it takes for him to sit here, straight-backed, stoic, while my hand toys with him. His body is betraying him though. The subtle flex of his thigh under my touch, the heat seeping through denim. He’s trying so hard to look untouchable, but I’m peeling it back, inch by inch.
I risk more. My fingers press into the muscle of his thigh, squeezing once, then sliding closer to where he’s hardest to ignore. His shoulders roll back, posture painfully stiff, and his lips part—just for a second—before clamping shut. He doesn’t look at me, but I see the flush high on his cheekbones.
That little sign of surrender makes me grin into my beer. I don’t need him to say anything. His body’s already telling me everything.
“You’re testing me,” he says finally, low and restrained, a growl barely held in check.
“I’mteasingyou,” I murmur, letting my shoulder brush his. “And you… You’re fascinating to watch.”
The tiniest flicker of something—irritation? curiosity?—crosses his face. I lean in closer again, my hand brushing higher on his thigh. “I didn’t think I’d find you so interesting. But here we are.”
He swallows, eyes flicking down at my hand and back up at mine. His jaw tightens.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” he mutters softly, voice low, almost trembling.
“Yeah?” I whisper back, voice teasing, low. “Then stop me.”
