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She glances over her shoulder toward the back of the diner. “I have my sketchbook to keep me company.”
Sketchbook. The one she was drawing in at the laundromat. I’ve been dying to know what she was drawing. Been dying to know everything about her, really. All I know so far is her name, age and address. Plus the location where she’s supposed to be delivered in a week’s time—not that it matters a damn bit. “What do you sketch, Tatum?”
Her lashes sweep down to hide her eyes. Shyly. “I’m a comic book artist. Or…aspiring, anyway. I’m still saving up for art school.” She gives the empty rows of booths a wry look. “Tonight isn’t exactly going to put me over the top.”
Art school. Comics. This girl has a whole future planned out, but my boss takes none of that into account, does he? She’s just a number. A payday.
Not to me, though.
“Why comics?”
“I can’t imagine wanting to do anything else,” she whispers, growing animated, eyes sparkling. Gorgeous beyond words. “There are no rules. And so much of the worldbuilding can be done in photos. For someone like me who doesn’t like a lot of description, but loves dialogue, it makes the story so much more compelling. My…”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath listening to her talk. “You what?”
“My favorite series is called Comeback Girl. The heroine is this underdog, all the odds are stacked against her, but she fights back every time.” The sound of pouring rain fills the diner, but my heartbeat is louder. “Sometimes when I’m bored and there are no customers, I think of what Comeback Girl would do. And this place becomes my secret lair where I plot world domination. Or at least, plot to take down the bad guys.”
I’m a bad guy, aren’t I?
Technically, yes. I’m one of the worst out there.
That fact sticks in my throat and stops me from responding.
When her words have been hanging in the air too long, she grows visibly self-conscious. Twin spots of red appear on her cheeks and eyelashes fluttering, she looks away quickly. “I’ll leave you to y-your pie,” she stammers. “Just signal me if you want a refill on that coffee.”
She turns to leave and my fork is already clattering down to the plate, my hand shooting across the counter to trap her wrist. “Stay,” I rasp, unable to hide all of the desperation. “I’m sorry, I’m not…great at making conversation.”
Sympathy makes her eyes go from brown to honey colored. “Most truck drivers aren’t. I usually talk enough for the both of us.”
“Why aren’t you doing that with me?”
“I don’t know. You’re different.”
“How?”
“Drivers usually remind me of my corny uncle Pete,” she explains, slicking her lips with that pretty pink tongue. “You don’t remind me of my uncle at all.”
My cock pounds in my jeans. “Good.”
“Why is it good?” she breathes—and I realize my grip on her wrist has tightened.
I’m guiding her through the opening of the counter and dragging her around to my side, despite my better judgment. All the way into the V of my thighs, her belly stopping an inch away from my bulge. Jesus, I want to yank her closer. All the way. But I rake my knuckles up and down the curves of her sides instead, listening to her soft, surprised expulsions of air. “It wouldn’t be appropriate to stand like this with your uncle, Tatum.”
Her gaze travels to my mouth and lingers. “If we’re getting technical, I shouldn’t be standing like this with a customer, either.”
I flick a glance at the kitchen. “Is the cook going to rat you out?”
“No. I don’t know.” She’s getting flustered. Her nipples are in hard little points and she knows I can see them, clear as day, and it’s causing her to shift around in between my outstretched thighs. Making me want to trap her, hold her down like a fucking predator. “I-I’ve never done anything bad enough to test his loyalty,” she adds.
“Maybe we should.”
“How?” she asks.
“Tell him you’re closing early and let him see us leaving together.” I drag her an inch closer, my hands flexing on her full, perfect hips. “By morning you should know whether or not he squealed to your boss.”
“So it would just be an experiment?” she says quietly. “I wouldn’t actually go to your truck.”
“Yes, you would. We have to make it believable.” I lean in and inhale against the side of her neck, letting my chest press to her tits. “Once we’re in my truck, of course, we’re just going to play Monopoly, but he won’t know that.”
