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I give her a confused look, she smiles.
Don’t look any lower.
“Zero discomfort since the other time.”
I frown even more.
“You forgot? On the couch.”
My heart stops beating when I understand what she’s referencing, and I sketch a pout that I want to be nonchalant.
Zero. Discomfort.
“I forgot,” I lie. “But good for you if it’s okay for you.”
Her smile disappears and her face tenses imperceptibly.
“Yeah,” she says. “As insignificant as the first time.”
I almost drop my glass. My whole body tenses at her comments and I gauge her sideways.
Insignificant.
That’s what I told her after her lame attempt to kiss me. I had been a bit harsh in my words, because at the time it didn’t matter to me. This evening? I want her to use anything but that term for what we shared on the couch.
Hot. Fiery. Torrid. Destabilizing. Forbidden.
But not insignificant.
Because it wasn’t to me.
“At least we’re on the same page.”
“Yes,” she confirms. “It won’t happen again.”
If the music wasn’t so loud, I’d swear my voice got sharp, at least as much as hers. Except that the DJ persists in putting the sound louder and louder, preventing me from analyzing Scarlett’s tone.
Why the hell do I give a fuck about her tone?
Offended or not, the hot kissing on the couch has to stop.
Never again.
The waitress places Scarlett’s glasses on the bar and I examine the blonde next to me, who is now avoiding eye contact. Her hair cut short, her chest rising and falling at a steady pace, the blush in her cheeks…
“I hope you’ll find something lessinsignificanttonight,” she says. “If you ask me, Coyote Ugly behind the bar will be a great choice. You two in a bed, it might be boiling hot.”
She gives me a forced wink before quickly disappearing among the crowd gathering around the counter, her hands loaded with the four drinks. I follow her with my gaze, both annoyed by her suggestion, and far from being able to get rid of the image of ahot nightin my bed.
With her.
I frown and finish my glass. I don’t have time to put it back on the bar when Miss Number serves me a second,on the house. I smile at her and leave. Don’t want to play with her tonight. No, now, I want somethingless insignificantand that just caused the tension to rise in my throat, my stomach and my cock. Scarlett Martin is playing with me, and when I get to the table where my buddies are seated, I run into a sight that makes me even more… irritable.
My eyes turn towards the dance floor. Towards a silhouetteand a lascivious wiggle. I remain completely obsessed with the view. She doesn’t take her eyes off me, continuing to dance as if the nightclub belonged to her, as if she was doing it just forme, to drive me crazy, to make me angry, to make meact.
I shake my head, silently refusing to be seduced, to lose control, and join her. To grab her hips, to glue myself to her, and enjoy her move against me, her playful gaze, her teasing mouth, her playful hands.
“So, the waitress?”
