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Nah.
I open the door for Britney, then hop inside my Range Rover. When we drive away from the house, a strange sensation begins to take over the vehicle. This is the first time I’ve ever been alone with Britney, and we may as well be riding in a smart car—everything seems smaller, tighter, more constrained.
“Where are we going?”
“You can get on I-35 then get off on exit 236,” she says, looking straight ahead.
“Sounds good.” I give her a sideways glance, then turn on the satellite radio. A jazzy song fills the space. “Is there any channel you’d prefer? We probably don’t listen to the same music.”
She chuckles, shifting in her seat. “What? Just because I’m young, I’m some uncultured brat?”
I shake my head. “Hey, just checking. One of my interns at the law office I work in always talks about bands and TV shows I’ve never heard about. So I bet we don’t have a lot in common,” I say, remembering how many times I felt like an outsider listening to those chats in the hallways of the exclusive office in downtown Austin.
She leans closer, drooping over her armrest. From the corner of my eye, I can tell she’s now watching me intently. I suck a breath, and when I release it, the tension is still there, haunting me.
“I bet we have more in common than you think,” she says, with an edge in her voice.
I swallow the lump of lust lodged in my throat. My cock gets hard, straining against my slacks. Maybe I have a case of the blue balls and I’m imagining this whole thing. She isn’t staring at me, and there is no sexual innuendo.
To make sure, I glance at her.
The second my gaze connects with hers, a rush of blood travels through me, heating every part of my body. Fuck.
Flecks of desire flicker in her gorgeous blue eyes. She parts her mouth, and her pink tongue comes out, and she licks her upper lip. A mighty plump upper lip, which would look good around my big fat dick. The message she’s sending is obvious. Question is, what do I do with it?
