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I was in charge of safety tonight, wasn’t I?
I worry about the amount we’ve drunk…
It’ll be fine.
You know how the house is, man…
I said it will be fine!
Right. See you soon.
He doesn’t text back, so I pocket my phone.
Once I notice both girls have finished their last drinks, I have the waitress gather our things from the coat room. They bundle back up, and we head out into the blistering cold.
Snow’s coming down even harder, but the driver says he can manage getting us back.
Sera settles into the back seat with me, and if Aria notices, she doesn’t say anything.
The girls gossip and carry on, everything in good fun, but it’s nothing I can focus on.
Not with Sera’s hand on my thigh.
There’s an immediate feeling that, with that touch, she’s claimed ownership of me somehow. My nature rises and refuses to be dominated, but I keep it in check. A growing need rises in my stomach to know what being hers would feel like.
We haven’t known her long, I remind myself.
She could still run.
But I can’t help but get excited at the idea that she’s the one who won’t bolt or end up in an asylum.
I have an inkling she’ll look at who each of us is directly and not even bat an eyelash.
Once Aria’s dropped safely home, the driver heads toward Ironwood. For the longest time, there’s silence in the car as her hand still burns a hole in my leg.
She hasn’t moved it.
Not once.
My thigh is beginning to feel helpless beneath her touch. That’s silly to say, even though it’s true.
“Tonight was so much fun,” she says, and I note the breathlessness in her tone.
“It was.” I swallow thickly.
Something else is growing thick in my jeans. Its menacing presence is why I didn’t get to dance with her tonight.
“Does this bother you?” She squeezes my leg with her hand.
Fuck.
“Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“So, you like it?” She does it again.
“Sera, you’ve had a lot to drink tonight, and I don’t want to take advantage. I think you should probably move to another seat before I forget everything my ma mére taught me.”
“You’re French?”
