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He doesn’t even pause to think.
Is he teasing me?
I told Damon we couldn’t have a repeat of what happened on Patrick’s yacht, but that smug grin on his too handsome face has me wishing I’d been more specific with what’s off limits.
A skittering sensation wiggles across my arms as we stare at each other, but neither of us makes a move for our cups.
“Damn,” Brandi says. “Your turn, Kate.”
Damon doesn’t regret kissing me.And he’s just admitted it in front of his best friends.
“Never have I ever…” I stall a moment. What’s something outrageously naughty that I could test him with? “Touched myself while someone watched.”
“Oh, hell,” Brandi raises her cup. “We’re out, babe.”
Damon’s pupils explode at the center, thinning the color around them. He reaches for his cup, peering into it as he swirls it around, then flicks his gaze back toward me before downing the entire thing.
Flashes of Damon, naked, mouth parted while he strokes himself, cause the back of my neck to burn. And I can’t even blame the visions on the tequila because I’m still left with three whole shots.
Brandi takes notice. “Innocent little Kate.”
She’s obviously kidding, but the joke makes me self-conscious. I don’t want to be young and inexperienced.
Wouldn’t Damon want a woman who’s done some of these wild things, too?
No.We made a mistake last night, but that doesn’t mean I can start imagining a future between us. I was even sure to wear lipstick tonight to avoid the temptation of kissing him again.
I dodge his gaze, quickly gathering the empty cups.
“Maybe you ought to save that bottle for the ceremony on Saturday, Damon.” Chuck hooks a thumb toward the Patrón. “You’re gonna need it.”
As I carry our cups to the table, I hear a grumbling. “I’ll cheers to that.”
I turn to see Brandi snagging my hairbrush off the nightstand.
“Nonsense.” She shuffles back to Damon and shoves the pink plastic in his face. “You’ve just been handed the award for App of the Year. Those goofballs on your team are lined up behind you with the bright stage lights reflecting in their eyes. Now, what are you going to say?”
Instead of laughing, Damon pushes the faux microphone out of the way. “Knock it off, Bran. I’m nervous enough as it is.”
“Oh, come on. The tequila didn’t even help?” She pouts.
I plop down onto the edge of the bed. “Not one for public speaking, I take it?”
Chuck swats the air. “He hates it. The last speech he made—”
“Was a complete disaster. And I’m not looking forward to doing it again.”
Damon picks a speck of something off the ground and tosses it.
“Well, we’ll just have to practice, then,” I say, standing to pull him up off the floor. “Come on, up you go.”
He’s on his feet but still resisting. “This really isn’t necessary.”
I manage to shove him over in front of the window. “When my mother married my stepdad, I was given a crash course in the world of high society. Which included relearning how to walk, talk, and kiss ass.”
Waving a hand through the air, I carry on before I lose my nerve. “Sometimes I would have to host parties and events for different clubs and organizations Henry was a part of.”
I reach up to square his shoulders, rounding my palms over the soft material of his plain white tee. He eyes me carefully as if he’s afraid to move.
