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“You have?” I can feel my eyes narrow in challenge, but she doesn’t flinch. Her face is a stalwart admiral in the Royal Panty Navy.
“Yeah. I’m really glad you found them. I forgot to put any on this morning, so I could really use them.”
“You…f-f-f-or…got underwear?” I slur practically drunkenly, surprising myself. I don’t usually sound like that. I don’t think I have ever sounded like that. I’m confident. Self-assured. And I can handle people slinging shit because I’ve slung enough to beat out everyone else for five lifetimes.
I clear my throat and tilt my head from one side to the other, glancing down to the hem of Rachel’s dress involuntarily. Relax, Ty. She’s fucking with you. I speak again, this time steadying my voice to something a lot closer to normal. “You forgot your underwear?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, licking at her bottom lip with just the tip of her tongue. I can almost feel my eyes dilate like a cartoon character, every ounce of cool, calm, and collected evacuating the building as though it’s been declared condemned. She nods then, to affirm all the things her hum only hinted at, and I almost can’t believe how sexually enticing the simple movement is.
I want to say something to taunt her back, to regain some of my control, but she’s relentless in her actions, holding out the panties in front of herself by the dangle of just one finger. Her eyes are warm and inviting, and the corner of her mouth is turned up in a seductive smirk. “You want to help me put them on?”
Excu-fuck-what? I open my mouth to answer and will my mind to signal my head to nod, but all I manage is the wooden gulp of a man frozen by mere surprise. She watches me closely, her head tilting just enough to make the bright green of her eyes turn dark and all the air from my lungs to get trapped in my throat.
What the hell is she playing at?
When I don’t say anything, she moves on to do the talking for me. And by the assumption she makes, she’s either the most torturous woman on the planet, or she doesn’t know me at all. Based on how vocal a college campus can be with salacious fodder, I’m betting on the first.
“No?” she says with a pout. “Okay. Some other time, then.” With a quick flick of her wrist, she postures her ankle out in front of herself and slips her pink panties on one foot at a time, shimmying them up her legs and into position under her dress.
I watch the hem flutter down like a sheet on a clothesline billowing in the wind. It takes everything within me to stop myself from stooping down to try to get a view of the promised land underneath.
She rounds the desk, grabbing the paperwork she needed off the shelf on the way, and I’m left standing there, my mouth gulping like a big, dumb fish. I wish I could remember all the types and species and shit from all the years fishing with Uncle Brad so I could at least come up with something to liken myself to, but I’ll be fucked if my brain can tap into anything other than hormones right now.
Our chests almost touch as she stops in front of me, her eyes traveling up the line of my throat until they capture mine. There’s a sparkle in hers. Playful, mischievous, challenging.
The normal Ty Winslow would lean toward her, push her back into her space. But I’m so out of equilibrium right now, I doubt I could say my own name aloud if someone asked me.
“Excuse me,” she says, her voice a sultry whisper. One eye closes in a teasing wink, and my chest swings back of its own accord. She fills the space I’ve vacated, stepping around me and heading out the door without looking back.
However, I watch the swing of her curvy hips with avid interest the entire way. I love a woman with the body of a woman. Voluptuous, sultry, inviting. I like a body I can get lost in for a while.
And now, I’ll have the memory of watching that exact description walk away, leaving me behind with slurred speech, a missed opportunity, and a half-hard dick for the rest of my life.
I’m starting to think Rachel Rose is a whole lot of things her dad doesn’t know about—and a couple I’m not ready for myself.
But the thing that worries me the most, is not knowing what the hell changed so significantly in three days’ time…and what that means is to come from here.
I think I might be in trouble.
Ty
Blue Oyster Bar is largely abandoned on Monday nights, and after the day I’ve had, I’m glad for it. Rachel hasn’t exactly left me ready for bright lights and the main stage, so low-key is what I need.
