She struggles for another moment, Sisk letting out another frustrated huff. “Maybe Jax should help,” she says, her voice tight with defeat.
“We don’t have to go back out there if you don’t want to,” Lou tells her. “We can just sit. Or we can leave. Or we can steal cupcakes and disappear. Birthday privilege.”
“Thanks Lou… but… can you actually give us a minute?” she asks him.
He looks at her again. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
He studies my face like he’s trying to decide if I’m a threat, then finally steps back. “I’ll be nearby,” he tells her.
She nods, then crosses her arms around herself the second he’s gone.
“Whose bike jacket are you wearing, Sisk? And should I ask, why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“First of all, I don’t owe you explanations,” she says. “Second of all, it’s Lou’s jacket, and I spilled my drink all over my shirt. Stupid of me to wear a white tank top to a place like this, I know. And third, the zipper is stuck, so unless you’re here to actually help and not just act like a caveman, you can turn back around and leave me the hell alone.”
I move closer, and try not to stare, but it’s a losing battle. The jacket hangs open, and I can see everything. The soft curve of her breasts, the shadow between them, the smooth line of her stomach. My mouth goes dry. It’s not just nakedness.It’s her.My dick immediately reacts.
I have to force myself to look at the zipper. A small, metal tooth is caught on a piece of thread. A simple problem. A fucking impossible problem when all I can think about is the fact that she’s standing right there, half-naked, and I’m the one who’s supposed to be the gentleman.
My fingers are clumsy, slightly sweaty as I reach for the fabric. I try to focus on the task at hand, but my knuckles brush against the soft skin of her stomach, and she flinches.
I finally manage to work the thread free, the zipper sliding up with a soft, metallic hiss. The jacket closes, and I just stand there, my eyes glued to her.
I look up, my eyes meeting hers. They’re dark, wide, and filled with a mixture of defiance and something else. Something that looks a lot like desire.
“There, bunny, all fixed.”
“Don’t call me that.”
A slow smirk spreads across my face. “What, you prefer sugarplum? Babygirl?”
She squares her shoulders, trying to look tough. “I’m not a pet.”
“No. You’re not. You’re a rabbit.” My eyes move to her lips, then back up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you run. Every time it gets real. Every time I get too close.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to get caught.” Her chin lifts, a last stand of defiance. “Maybe I like being free.”
“Or maybe you’re afraid of liking what it feels like to be in my arms,” I move closer and gently tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Do you want to get back out there?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s my birthday and I am determined to have fun.”
“Happy 18th birthday,” I say, pulling a folded piece of paper from my pocket.
“What’s this?” She takes it.
“My gift.”
She unfolds it.
“A poem? You knew it was my birthday?”
I nod.
