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That being that he didn’t have one.
Because this wasn’t abouthim.
He might as well be a traffic cone or a cardboard cutout.
Which was fine.
He knew his place. He’d get some free food, even if it was dressed up too fancily and the portions were barely a mouthful.
There were worse fates for his Friday night.
Of course, he was trying to avoid thinking about better ones, since that would just make this night longer, more miserable.
Of that, he spoke from experience.
A bleep as he locked his doors, then he strolled into the restaurant and was shown to a private room in the back. Soft music, mood lighting, waiters in all black, and a room filled with people mingling.
He barely saw the other people, though.
Because all he wanted to see, to watch, to stare at was…Teresa.
Holy shit on a stick, that dress was…
He’d never seen her in something like that, something skintight, and he choked on his own spit when she turned to talk with someone, giving her his back, letting him see that her dress waswithouta back, its hem clinging at mid-thigh. Her ass. Her legs. Her—holy fucking shit, herwholebody, set his on fire.
He simultaneously wanted to toss her over his shoulder, take her to his car, and fuck them both senseless,andalso wanted to take off his tux jacket, wrap her in it, and make certain that no one else on the planet ever saw that much of her body again.
His.
She was his.
She turned again, perhaps having sensed him staring—which he was, and doing it blatantly—and he saw that the front was a lesson in temptation.
Not because it was showing skin.
It barely showed any.
She was covered in tight black fabric from wrists to throat. Not a single inch of skin was showing in that stretch of her body…and it was still the sexiest dress he’d ever seen. There was something about the material, about the way it clung to every curve, revealing without revealing, tempting by not really showing anything.
And knowing that the back…
Okay, so maybe he was inching toward the wanting to cover her up with his jacket direction.
Her eyes hit his and she froze, suddenly becoming a statue, and he knew the feeling, because he’d been struck with the same sensation in his solar plexus, the same sensation of every cell in his body going still.
Focused.
On Teresa.
“You’re staring, bro,” Cora said, coming up beside him and lacing their arms together. “You’ll never have a chance with her unless you show some chill.”
“She’s—”
“Beautiful,” Cora finished. “But she’s also working, so don’t fuck with her.”
He turned toward his sister. “Working?”
A nod back toward Teresa, who’d turned to an older woman and was chatting animatedly. “She’s looking for funding for her project management company.”
