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I wave him off. “Please, take your time.”
He says something in return, but I relax my shoulders and shuffle in the seat, looking for something to do while he sexts his wife. Then, my gaze strays to the door again, and this time, she’s there in flesh, and not much else.
Whitney.
She’s wearing a dark red dress that’s silky, like an overpriced nightgown. The thin straps make it obvious she isn’t wearing a bra, and as my gaze travels down her sexy body, I don’t see underwear marking the fabric. The hem whispers above her knees, but there’s a small slit at the front.
Maybe on a different woman, this dress wouldn’t look so sexy. So daring. But on her, it sends a clear message.
She is—
My message falls in the background the second a tall good looking man in his twenties comes behind her, and whispers in her ear. She chuckles, and then they both walk to the end of the table, to talk to Charles.
Blood bubbles in my veins.
Usually, irritation simmers a bit before I go all the way angry. Seeing her with the man, touching her elbow or talking so close to her, is like a blow to my gut. Not just any blow. One sent by a champion kickboxer.
A few more people enter and occupy the other tables in this private room.
The waiters continue their work, replenishing drinks and bringing out more courses with different types of meat and scrumptious side dishes. But I struggle to eat, as I watch from several feet away her being introduced to Harper. And apparently it’s going well.
“Have you tried the lamb?” Amanda, a good friend of Charles that I’ve seen in many parties through the years, says.
“Sure,” I say under my breath. Why am I so upset? I have no right. I told Whitney off. She should be with a guy her age, enjoying life, and not trying to go after a much older man just to prove something to herself. Rationally, it all makes sense.
Irrationally… I feel like punching this douchebag sitting next to her.
I wait until dinner is coming to an end, and a few guests stand to chat or swap places with a few others to catch up with friends who sat away from them. A more informal energy takes over, and people move in and out, a couple leaving the room to go outside for a smoke.
I’m scanning the room, pretending to be lost in thought, when really it’s just a ploy to not make it obvious I’m paying too much attention to her.
Then… our gazes connect.
Lust travels through me, sparking each one of my nerve endings. Then, the young man next to her says something, and she turns to him again, then she glances back at me, and sends me the slightest wink. A fucking wink.
This is a game for her.
Right now, I don’t know if I want to fuck her or bend her over my knee and spank her… which would lead to fucking. She’s unlocking a primal part of me I don’t let anyone access. I don’t trust that part, because it means I’d let my emotions dictate my actions—the opposite of what I like to do. One of the reasons my marriage ended.
If my ex saw me like this, getting worked up over so little, she’d laugh at me.
I am laughing at me, too.
And probably Whitney is—because right now, even from her seat, she knows she has the upper hand, and I hate her for it. But I also want her—undeniably.
When she surges to her feet and leaves the room, I do the same.
I don’t know where she’s going, probably to the restroom, and it’s idiotic to follow her, but I can’t think straight anyway so I may as well do what I fucking want.
Someone stops me to say hello, and she leaves the private room, alone. Good. At least that douche didn’t go after her.
At last, I’m able to disengage from this endless small talk vortex, and leave the private area. I’m walking toward the restrooms, when I see her leaving the women’s, clutching her purse like she just freshened up.
She’s checking her phone and almost walks into me. “Oh, hi,” she says, and slides her phone in her purse. Unlike the other times, she’s not looking at me like I’m a juicy piece of meat and she a starved woman. The way she crosses her arms over her chest it’s almost like I… bothered her.
A flicker of annoyance travels through me. “What’s going on?” I say out loud, unsure if I’m talking to myself or to her.
She tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at me. “Excuse me?”
