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“Thanks, Mr. Harrington,” she says, stepping toward the door. It’s perfectly polite and her smile is nothing more than friendly, but her eyes? Those dark orbs are full of mischief, and that mixed with the ‘Mr. Harrington’ does something to me.
I groan, my hips bucking involuntarily. It suddenly occurs to me that our deal is completely one-sided.
“Uhm, Miss Redding? Our agreement? Perhaps we need to make a few amendments,” I suggest, my eyes boring into hers.
She grins devilishly, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. And it’s not the class arrangement. “Nope, a deal’s a deal.”
And with that, she waggles her fingers at me in a triumphant wave and struts off down the hall.
That minx. She knew what she was doing. But I’m not angry. I’m impressed.
I won’t let her know that tomorrow night, though. No, I’ll punish her appropriately for crafting such a one-sided arrangement when she knew all the blood was in my dick and not my brain.
Though I wonder if that means she’ll be touching herself tonight? Thinking of me as her fingers brush over her clit? Or crying out my name as she fucks herself with a vibrating dildo from her collection?
“Shiiit,” I hiss to the empty room. I glance at my watch again. “Twenty-nine hours, one minute, and three seconds. You can do this, Harrington.”
On my way to Stephen’s counseling session, I pull up my email app on my phone to do a quick scan. There are the usual spam ones, a few fan letters that Evan will handle, but the last one’s subject line stops me short.
ROAR!
I click on the email and scan it, my eyes rolling harder with every word.
An army of sheep won’t stop the lion from taking what he wants.
They’ve taken creative liberty with the whole wolf/sheep idiom, replacing it with lion in recognition of the Gentlemen’s Club mascot, and I’m not exactly sure what they’re trying to say. Are we the sheep? Am I the lion? Are they?
Sighing, I close the email and tuck my phone away. I was feeling good after the class today, but I guess it’s always one step forward, two steps back. There’s going to be haters for the good Evan and I are trying to do, no matter what.
That doesn’t mean we stop. Nope, we go harder, dream bigger, and help more guys.
The more we rattle them, the more progress we must be making.
And today, we made huge strides thanks to Samantha.
CHAPTER17
SAMANTHA
Rule NumberTwo of hook ups: Don't go on an actual date with your hook up... who’s now your boss.
Clearly, my rules are getting amended on the fly as I get ready for a date with Chance. And this is definitely an official date. Though I’m worried I’m going to climb into his lap and ride his dick like a pogo stick within two minutes of his picking me up.
I might’ve told him to hold off, but in solidarity, I was a ‘good girl’ too, and I’m on edge in a major way.
But we’re going on this date first.
If—and that’s a big if—I can decide what to wear, which I need to do quickly because it’s seven thirty, and I’m still standing naked in front of my closet.
What does someone like me wear on a firstofficialdate with someone like Chance Harrington?
I hold up a pair of almost sheer bikini panties that I bought myself as a joke last Christmas. Screen printed on the thin nylon is an arrow, with the captionLICK HEREright above it. They’re part of a set. The other one has a similar arrow, just on the backside with the instructionsSTICK HERE.
I consider both pairs, laughing to myself about their cliché naughtiness, and then go with the lick option. I slip them on with a smile, knowing that Chance will be shocked with their silliness.
Or maybe just be inspired to follow suggestions.
But what else do I wear?
