“Well, this dress is gorgeous, but I feel kind of exposed.” She pulls her purse to her front, holding it with both hands.
I give a quick and very thorough once-over. “You’re not, thankfully. There are too many men in this bar to fight.”
A tiny smile catches at the corner of her mouth, but she turns her head to hide it. “Fight them for my honor? Remember, you’re not the hero type.”
I’m prevented from answering, thanks to the barman’s appearance. I place our order, and Eve declines a seat, watching as my employee prepares her drink.
“I feel like we should’ve talked more about this,” she says absently, pressing her chin to her fist as she watches the barman salt her glass. “Maybe filled out one of those online questionnaires or something?”
Turning to face her, I rest my elbow on the polished bar top and my left foot on the brass footrail. “I don’t quite follow.”
“I barely know anything about you.” She spares me a glance. “What if people start asking me questions? About you? About us?”
“There are very few people who truly know me, so your answers won’t matter. You can say what you like. Besides, they’re not going to be asking questions about me.” My eyes slide over the smooth skin of her shoulder and down her back, my cock pulsating as I take in the luscious swell of her arse.
“Stop staring at my butt.”
I look up to find her watching me in the smoky glass behind the bar. “It’s what lovers do. Watch. Touch. Kiss when they think no one is watching. Sometimes, even when they know they are, just because they can’t help themselves.”
“You aren’t the PDA type.”
“You know that’s not true.” Leaning forward, I press my lips to her shoulder. “I absolutely can be inspired to public displays.”
“Smooth,” she says, her tone indifferent as she turns her face away. It doesn’t hide the flush to her cheeks. “But if my answers won’t matter, then I’ve decided you aren’t the demonstrative type. At least for the purposes of tonight.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Maybe you’re even born again. You’re very respectful, and you keep your hands to yourself. You don’t even believe in sex before marriage.”
“I can’t imagine what kind of people you think you’ll be speaking to tonight, but I suggest you don’t say anything like that in earshot of my friends.”
“Matt and Fin will be there?”
“Yes.” I frown at her response. Her genuine surprise—delight, even.
“Thanks,” she says, turning her attention away. I’m almost jealous of the smile she bestows on the barman as he places her drink down in front of her. As he leaves, she rises to her toes, attempting to pluck a tiny straw from a container just out of reach.
“A little help here?”
“Sorry. I wasn’t watching the top half.”
“Rude,” she mutters, as I pass her a tiny straw.
You have no idea, darling.
“But thank you for saving my lipstick.”
“Do I get to spoil it later?”
“You know, now that I think about it, you’ve recently taken a vow of celibacy.”
“Kissing isn’t fucking. That might depend on what you’re kissing, of course.” I take a sip of my whisky, allowing that little memory to float between us.
“I think you’re about to enter a monastery,” she adds airily.
“Another time, perhaps. Tonight, I’m besotted with you, and there will be public displays of affection and adoration. Even a little manhandling.”
Her mouth turns down at the corners.
