God, he reminds me so much of Jake.
Same curls. Same cheeky smile.
But that’s ancient history.
Leaning closer, I read the tag on his lapel.
His name is Spencer.
“I’ll take a Virgin Mojito, thanks.”
Placing his order, he swivels to face me.
“Two please.”
I swipe my card before he can pay.
“Nothing aboutyousays virgin,” Marco teases, looping an arm around my waist.
“Ah, but that's how you want me.”
I serve those fuck me eyes, as though I’m about to kiss him.
And I almost do, but not quite.
Instead I face the other way, reaching along the bar for our drinks.
Flashing a devious smile, I step back when he tries to claim his kiss.
He unravels, returning the flirt.
“Oh that's your plan, is it? Seduce me, then leave a boy wanting?”
“I just don't think it would be right,” I tease. “To encourage such impure thoughts while we sip these saintly beverages.”
Pinning me gently against the bar, he holds my collar as though I’m in trouble.
“You and your pure saintly lips will be begging for mercy within an hour.”
“I silently beg for mercy every time you step close to me,” I sigh.
We sit on high suede stools at the end of the counter.
A cosy corner for two.
One mocktail leads to another.
The couple next to us are just as insatiable.
Fingers trailing along wrists, legs entwined.
Low bass ripples through the floor, a subtle vibration under our seats.
“You really think I could last an hour without touching you?”
I will regret these words more than I know.
“Bet you can't,” he laughs. “But I dare you to try.”
