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Is Oliver the same way?
Or does he groan a thank you so deep and needy it makes my sex clench—
"Luna." He cuts me off again. "I'm gonna stand next to you until his 'girlfriend' shows up."
"Yeah." Right. I'm standing here, holding this cup of coffee. And Sean is sitting at a table, waiting, pretending not to watch us.
"We aren't talking about it."
"Right." I nod.
"So you should make it less obvious you're thinking about it."
"You're the one who said—"
"Pissed him off, didn't it?"
My gaze flits to Sean. He's staring at his phone, all pouty and frustrated. That why can't you understand what I want look of his.
Was he always this irritating? Or is it just that he decided I was too much work?
The only guy I ever loved—my boyfriend of eighteen months—deemed me difficult.
Too hard to please.
Too demanding.
Too…
I'm not even sure. Just that he did the math and arrived at the conclusion Luna isn't worth the effort.
Whatever.
He's not worth the effort.
"Fuck." Oliver chuckles. "He looks so mad."
He does.
"Like he wants to deck me, but he's afraid he can't take me."
"He could," I say.
"You're defending your ex-boyfriend?"
"If you're going to fight, you should know what you're up against."
He shakes his head shameful. "He looks pathetic."
"Because he's picturing us…" Ahem.
"'Cause he's picturing you sucking my cock?"
"Jesus, Oliver." My blush spreads to my chest. It's ridiculous. I don't get nervous. I just…
"Fuck, he's so jealous. I think he's gonna do it."
"He's in good shape."
Oliver shrugs whatever. Sure he can take Sean. "I would hit him. If you asked."
"Why would I ask?"
"Didn't he dump you?"
"Thanks for the reminder."
"Just saying."
"Just saying?" I swallow a sip. Mmm. Dark and rich. Surprisingly good for a furniture store. I let out a groan.
Oliver stares with rapt attention. "You like it?"
Not going there. "It's good. Thanks."
He turns to his coffee. Adds sugar and half-and-half. Takes a long sip. "I got it." He motions to the register. "Stay here."
"I can."
He shakes his head no way. "Please. I owe you. For the satisfaction I'm feeling right now."
Okay… sure.
I sip my coffee, trying not to picture Oliver's suggestion, half-watching Sean as he stands, greets his girlfriend, keeps glancing our way.
She's exactly what I imagine. A petite brunette (natural color and it's long and neat) in an adorable yet tasteful dress and flats.
Is she oblivious to what a dickhead he is?
Or do his other traits make up for his attitude?
Sean is incredibly handsome. As handsome as Oliver. In a more clean cut, future finance guy way.
No intense blue eyes. Or strong eyes.
Or tattoo just above his hip—
Ahem.
Oliver rejoins me at the counter. "Five more minutes."
"Huh?"
"Of enjoying his pain."
And that sexy, deep voice. The throaty laugh. The wicked grin.
The, uh…
God, Oliver is hot. It's wrong. It's really, incredibly wrong.
Oliver chuckles as Sean glances at us again. "Was that the thing to say?"
"Huh?"
"Did you not…?"
Not going there. "Why do you want to know?"
"Curious."
Why is he curious? We are friends. And friends talk. But this isn't friends talking.
It's something else.
"What about?" I ask.
"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine."
"I don't not want to talk about it," I say.
He shoots me a bullshit look, but he doesn't say anything.
"I can talk about it."
"Sure."
"It's just not fair. If you're the one asking me all the questions."
"You want to play twenty questions?"
I swallow another sip. Take the dare. "Sure."
"Okay, a question for a question."
Right. A question for question. That's fair. It's going to kill me, but it's fair.
"You can go first," he says.
Right. I can go first. I can ask him anything. About his sex life. Like why he's so obsessed with whether or not I blew Sean on a regular basis. "Do you ask the women you fuck to…"
"To blow me?"
"Yeah." My cheeks flush.
His fingers skim the plastic lid. "Not usually."
"Oh."
"Oh?" he asks.
"In my experience, men are… enthusiastic about that particular act."
"You don't like it?"
That's not really answering the question, but okay, fine. It is his turn. "Sometimes… I don't like it rough," I say.
"Ah."
I ignore the implications. "I have a sensitive gag reflex. So I prefer… not too rough." I'm going to die. Literally die. "And I need him to finish somewhere else."
"Where?"
"Where?"
"Yeah." His eyes flit to my lips. Shoulders. Chest. "Where do you like guys to come?"
"In a condom."
He chuckles. "If you're sucking them off." His gaze stops on the v-neck of my tank top. "On your tits?"
"Is that what you like?"
He makes this mmm sound. It's music. Poetry. Hell yes, every yes, absolutely yes.
And now that image is in my head.
In Technicolor.
Oliver wants to come on my tits.
What the actual fuck?
He looks back to Sean, who is now only half-watching us. And half talking to his girlfriend, who has no idea we're here. "You think she's into that?"
"How would I know?"
"She looks sweet. Like she only does missionary."
"Sweet can be deceiving." I don't add details about how Daisy is a total freak now.
