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She giggled. “Stop. Stop. I don’t want to talk about that.”
She was drunk and her shoulder was pressed tight against mine. I could smell the perfume she wore. Lavender to match the color of her hair. I could have devoured her whole in that moment, but my brain was catching up to what she was really saying.
“Tell me what you want, Whit.”
She bit her bottom lip. Fuck, I wanted that inmymouth right now.
“You know, just be friends, like before.”
Friends.
A cold bucket of water was thrown over my head. She wanted to befriends.
Fuck, I could do that. But I didn’twantthat.
I didn’t want to lose her either.
“You want to be friends.”
“Yeah. I mean, like how it’s been tonight. It’s been great. I was worried that you’d want to talk about …”
“What exactly?” I asked, pressing again.
She gulped. “You know.”
“You’ve said that. Maybe you should enlighten me.”
Because I remembered her watching me masturbate in the shower and the feel of her lips on my cock and how it had felt to sink into her cunt. And for a second, as our eyes met drunkenly, she thought about it too. Then, her eyes shuttered.
“That’s what I mean, King,” she said, swatting at me and pulling away at the same time. “I don’t want things to change with us. You don’t either, do you?”
“What if I said I did?”
She froze at those words. Her lips opening to a silent O. Her eyes going wide. She didn’t know what to do with that. And Whitley Bowen was terrified of relationships. She thought she was the stereotypical “bad girlfriend,” and if she felt the slightest pressure, she’d ditch. I’d seen her move across the country because of it. I could see her brain, even her alcohol-addled brain, considering it now.
“I’m kidding,” I lied.
She broke out into laughter. “Jesus, you’re the worst. Such a goddamn flirt.”
“That’s me.”
“I’m still the best wingman you’ve ever had, right, King?”
“Something like that.”
“Glad we had this talk. I need another drink. Come dance with me.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She bit her lip and winked at me as she scampered back to the dance floor. I kept my smile on my face until she disappeared. Then, I let it fall. I wanted to punch something or someone. Whoever had hurt my little pixie enough to make her run away from the first sight of something real.
Fuck.
Just … fuck.
5
WHITLEY
