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“Cheers.” I tilt my shot toward her in jest and down it before she can say otherwise. No salutes to the dead, or to anything else for that matter.
When my glass hits the table, Addison’s is just reaching her lips.
Everything about the way she drinks it turns me on. From the way her slender fingers hold the glass, to the way her throat moves as she swallows.
A million images of how she’d look as she sucks my cock are going through my head until she speaks again.
“You make me feel …” she trails off and hesitates to continue.
“Scared?” I offer her. I’m used to making certain people feel that way. Only when I need them to remember what I’m capable of.
“No … unworthy.” I’m struck by her candor.
“If you think that, it’s because you’ve come to that conclusion on your own.”
“You’ve always made me think that. Even back when I was with Tyler.” My spine stiffens hearing her bring him up so casually this time. Like it’s easy to use his name in conversation.
“Your bruschetta,” the waiter says, setting the plate down in the center of the table. I’ve never wanted to kill a waiter for delivering an appetizer before. Not until this moment.
He starts to speak again and I cut him off. “We’re good here, thank you.” My words are rushed and hard and I pray for his sake he takes the fucking hint.
My gaze moves from him to Addison, and her expression makes me regret it.
“You made me think that when I got here.” Addison looks as if she’s debating on eating. I guess the topic has ruined her appetite. It takes me a second to remember what she even said …unworthy.
“You were late.”
“I got here as soon as I could,” she protests weakly. As if she’s truly apologetic and the part that pisses me off the most is that I know she is.
“If you don’t want me to be angry, then don’t make me wait.” I’m wound tighter and tighter by the second. It’s amazing how a girl like Addison can tempt my self-control.
“You didn’t have to wait. You can go,” she retorts, saying each word while staring straight into my eyes. Daring me.
I smile. “I don’t want to leave.”
The anger in her features softens at my response. “I just hit traffic.”
A heavy breath comes and goes as I settle back in my seat, watching for her reaction. This tit for tat is different for me. “It’s fine,” I tell her, hoping to end it. And move back to the plan.
“Why do you look at me like that?” she asks me and I still.
“How is it that I look at you?” I ask her to clarify. It’s usually so easy to manipulate others into seeing me how I need them to. But Addison is observant beyond measure. She always has been. And she’s always been different.
“Like you don’t trust me. Or maybe you don’t know what to expect from me.”
I shrug. “I don’t trust anyone. Don’t take it personal.”
She laughs and her shoulders shake slightly. “Maybe that’s because of the people you hang out with?” she suggests and quirks a brow at me.
“I don’t hang out with anyone.” I answer her simply, with no emotion. Merely stating a truth.
She hums a response and reaches out for a piece of the toasted bread. As she bites into it, the bread crunches loudly and diced tomatoes fall into her hand. She actually blushes, and after she swallows she says defensively, “You should eat some, it’s weird with you just watching me.”
I let a rough chuckle vibrate up my chest. “I’m not hungry.”
“I hate being rude and eating it all myself, but the alcohol is already hitting me.”
Good.I don’t say the thought out loud.
