It’s a picture.
I hold my breath as it loads.
Bury me.
Half-lidded grey eyes stare through the screen, a hand buried in mussed black hair. But as gorgeous as his sleepy face is, I’m hopelessly distracted by the expanse of bare, inked chest. Defined muscle and intricate artwork and—
Good lord, his nipples are pierced.
I’m gonna faint.
Morning sweetheart.
Andrea attempts to snatch the phone from me. I lurch out of reach. She grumbles but I don’t catch what she says because my ears are ringing and my blood is boiling— for once not in anger.
I push my chair back and pull out my wallet, slapping some cash on the table. “I’ve gotta run.”
Andrea plucks up the bills, pointing them at me. “To Win, I assume?”
“No, I have a study thing,” I lie.
She sees right through my bullshit. “What did I say? Don’t jump into bed with him yet.”
“I won't,” I call over my shoulder as I rush out of the restaurant, hoping no one notices the growing bulge in my shorts. Once I’m safely in my truck, I type a response.
Someone woke up late.
Couldn’t sleep.
Why?
I don’t think you’re ready for that answer.
I swallow hard. It must be bad if he’s reluctant to tell me— he has no issue boldly flirting. Did something trigger him? I chew the inside of my cheek.
Try me.
Just remember you asked for it.
Another picture loads and I immediately regret falling for his trap. The camera points down his taut stomach, showcasing his sculpted abs and tattooed hand gripping the obvious outline of his cock through a pair of light grey sweats. Inked script flows through the V leading into the waistband, asking to be licked. A little stain darkens the cotton hiding the tip of his dick.
I’m sweating. Panting. Throbbing.
Cursing.
You can’t send that shit when I’m in public!
I repeat, you asked.
My cock leaks. I glance around the parking lot. Andrea’s warnings whisper in my ears but impulsive stupidity screams over her sage advice.
So last night, you had this… problem?
What happened to being in public?
I. Hate. Him.
I’m in my car now, asshole. Answer the question.
