Page 91 of Worth Loving You

My elbow propped on the bar while I waited for our drinks, I raked my focus along her shape. She was wearing a dark pink blouse that was two layers; the bottom more like a tank top and the top a sheer material that dipped low to show off her cleavage, the sleeves long that fanned out wide around her fingertips. The hem was tucked into a pair of black jeans that hugged her legs to just above her ankles, where a pair of black heels wrapped around in straps that zigzagged over her feet, leaving her dark red toenails visible.

Falling around her shoulders in waves, her hair was parted on the side to accentuate a cowlick, so the tresses framed her face. Her freckles were so faint, with the makeup she’d put on, they were almost invisible. Her dark brown eyes sparkled under the thick layers of mascara, shadow, and liner that curled at the corners toward her perfectly manicured brows. As I stood watching, she was reapplying her bright red, shimmery gloss, rubbing her lips together and puckering to swipe a smear with her pinky.

She was gorgeous. How the hell had I misjudged her so severely when we first met? Seeing her in those stiff, white clothes, her hair in a messy ponytail and no makeup, she had been easy to overlook, but no more. The last eight months, Chastity had grown into a confident, beautiful woman that demanded attention and respect whenever she entered a room. She was stunning.

“Wyatt!” Tim barked, nudging my elbow.

Tearing my attention away, I glimpsed over my shoulder. “Hm?”

His brows creased, he held out the glasses.

“Oh, right. Thanks.”

I took the drinks and jutted my chin. Weaving through the crowd to return to her looming near the stage, I noticed someone checking her out. Pausing, my lids narrowed, an idea scheming in my head.

I continued making my way toward her, holding out her drink. “One watermelon sparkler,” I called out loud enough for her to hear.

She squealed and grabbed the glass, holding the straw between her thumb and index to sip the clear, bright red liquid. Smacking her lips, she sighed and shook her head. “That’s good stuff.”

“That’s your third. What’s in it?”

“Gin, sake, lemon juice, agave nectar, and.” She plucked the chunk of fruit off the rim and bit the corner. “Watermelon.”

“Sounds sweet.”

“You mean it sounds good.”

I wiggled my fingers, and she handed it back. Tucking my index over the top to hold her straw aside, I started to take a sip, but she waved her hand.

“Wait, wait.”

The tip of her tongue pressed to the corner of her upper lip, she leaned forward and rubbed the fruit on the glass. A drop of juice trickled down the side to my knuckle, my sight fixated on her face. She wiped at the drop and sucked it from her finger, her lips making a popping sound.

My teeth ground, lust brewing in my gut.

“Now taste it.”

I cleared my throat and forced my attention away. I had to behave. We were in front of her friends. This was not the time or place to be aggressive toward her.

Bringing the glass to my mouth, I tasted it and winced, shoving it back. “Dammit, that is sweet.”

She grinned, her nose wrinkled, and her lids squinted. “Yummy!”

She was tipsy, and that was good. I was going to use that to my advantage. I merged into the crowd, leaving her to chat with her friends still on the stage during their break. Her legs were swinging, her cheeks rosy. She was giggling at something one of them said, swatting at him playfully, not even noticing I was gone.

After a few minutes, the guy who had been eyeing her decided to make his move and approach. Time to see if my theory was correct. I wanted to see if she would fall for anyone who flirted with her. After all, she had given in to Milo pretty easily and she was close to giving in to me.

Of course, I wouldn’t allow anything to happen, and would intervene, if necessary. I just wanted to test her, see if she could be trusted around men who were interested in her.

Too far away to hear what they were saying, it was obvious by the look on her face he was hitting on her. With her friends there, she was behaving. Now that their break was over and they were returning to their equipment, it was just her and the stranger.

He sat on the edge of the stage with her, leaning closer to talk in her ear. She blushed and giggled, sipping her drink. He nudged his bicep to hers, said something else, and her smile wavered. When he put his hand on her knee, she immediately shifted her weight to nonchalantly remove it. Not picking up the hint, he brushed a lock of her hair from her cheek, still talking.

Even from where I stood, I could tell she was getting uncomfortable.

He motioned with his head, and she shook hers, holding her palm up. When he prodded, she denied him a second time. Now he was getting upset. He said something and her brows arched, her chin bowing submissively.

This was the part I was worried about. Would she buckle to get the validation she’d not gotten as a kid? Growing up, starved for affection all these years, despite not wanting to, would she cave just so he would like her?