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Two, I’m screwed.
25
Silver
We don’t go home right away.
Instead, Cole says we have to eat. When Derek showed because I might have forgotten to text him, Cole told him to find a way to drive my car back as I was going with him.
All the way, he’s been trying to finger me under my skirt because I stole my underwear from his trousers when we changed back. I’ve been slapping his hand away, to no avail.
But that’s the thing about Cole. He never gives up. If he wants something, he doesn’t stop.
Not even close.
We end up at a secluded restaurant that’s not on the main street. It’s like he knows all the hidden areas, which shouldn’t be a surprise, considering the secret life he’s leading through that club.
My core still tingles in remembrance of that couple, of their ecstasy — and mine.
It’s an experience I’ll never be able to forget. I never knew I liked voyeurism until I came undone around Cole’s fingers. He’s slowly but surely ruining me.
The restaurant is Italian and has wooden decor with tables and chairs in the shape of trees. We settle across from each other and order wood-fired pizza. I placed an extra order of French fries with mayonnaise.
If I’m getting in the calories, might as well go all in. I’m too hungry after that experience in the club and I can’t trick my stomach into accepting salad.
“We could’ve eaten at home.” I study my French-manicured nails to not look at Cole.
Even though he’s reading from a book, he’s also been watching me in this intense way that turns me into a self-conscious fool. I’m not the type to get self-conscious. Ever.
Except when this wanker is involved.
“I’m hungry.” His voice drops with clear seduction.
“Well, you could’ve eaten at home.”
“I can’t wait until home.”
“Stop it,” I hiss, watching our surroundings. Thankfully, the place isn’t full at this time.
“Stop what? I’m only saying I’m hungry.”
“I know what you’re thinking, okay?”
“I doubt it.”
“You’re recalling what just happened in the club.” I lower my voice. “Don’t you dare bring it up to anyone.”
“Yes, Miss Prim and Proper,” he mocks. “But that’s not what I was thinking about.”
“No?”
“I was actually picturing eating you instead of the food we ordered.”
My lips part and I gulp, the image stabbing through my mind without permission. Just like Cole. He’s toying with my brain in more ways than one.
I clear my throat, opting to change the subject. “Is that book as depressing as the other book from that author?”
He’s reading Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. When I was fourteen, I read Norwegian Wood by the same author after that quote. I spent the night crying with how the story turned out. I loved the hero so much, and I hated how fate dealt with his emotions.
