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Hmm. Honesty. At least partial honesty. He’s not telling me he never does it. He’s not promising me I’m the first and only.
Still, his answer doesn’t sit well with me. I may not be ready to date, or even for this, but I know I want to feel special when I’m with someone, not like every other girl. That’s what I am to this man though, just the flavor of the week, the one he’s given the honors of pressing up against the wall outside for a quickie.
“It’s different though. You’re different.”
Oh, Christ. Here we go. I’m different. I’m different, everybody! Claire Thompson is different! My eyes do a major roll and I lift one unamused brow, pinning my arms across my chest.
He chuckles. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“Uh huh. ’Cause I’m about to get the you’re different speech.” Straightening off the wall, I step into him. There’s a little fire brewing inside me, part anger, part lust. I sweep my hands out between us with a little extra flourish. “Well, let’s hear it. What makes me so different?”
The smirk that dons that handsome face of his is so damn sexy. And intoxicating. And irritating. “Aside from the fact that you aren’t just falling into my lap and you’re calling me out on my shit right now?”
I bite back a smile, but I’m not sure it’s working. He just laughs.
“I’m not really sure,” he finally answers. “Haven’t figured it out yet.” He plows his fingers through his waves, my suspicions from earlier confirmed—there’s not a single drop of product in there. It’s all natural. He lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “I can just tell. Felt it as soon as you walked through the door. Saw it when you were trying to figure out how to flirt with the bartender. When you looked at me and looked away, like you didn’t really wanna be noticed. When you yelled at your friend for bringing shots, but then did them all anyway.” He takes a step toward me and his fingers brush along the edge of my bare shoulders. “Forgive me for being interested in such a breathtaking woman.”
Leaning against the wall, I drink in the long, lean lines of his ridiculously glorious body. “This normally works for you, doesn’t it?”
His eyes glitter with amusement. “Every time.”
There’s the reminder I was looking for: I’m not different, not special. I try not to let it bother me, because this—whatever this is—means nothing.
Dragging my teeth across my bottom lip, I reach forward, boldly fingering the button on his shirt, right below his collarbone. Our eyes lock. “Are you frustrated that it’s not working right now?”
“Very,” he snarls, pinning me to the wall with his hips. I gasp at the feel of the very noticeable bulge in his pants pressing against the hot spot between my legs. His fingers slide along my jaw and into my hair. “But I think it is working, little strawberry.”
“Pardon?” Little strawberry? What in the actual—
“Mmm. This fucking hair.” He twists a lock of my auburn hair around one long finger.
Oh no. I can’t do this. My knees start to go all wibbly-wobbly. He’s right. It is working.
My breath catches in my throat and his eyes flit to mine, dark and demanding.
Ohhh no, no, no. Come on, Claire! Be strong.
But he’s so sexy. Just one…one what? One kiss? One night? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I don’t even know your name,” I justify, then quickly realize I don’t care. Because if I’m going to do this, and if what I’m worried about is wanting to see him again, falling for him…
“My name is A—”
I slap my hand over his mouth. His forehead creases and his eyes crinkle. “No! I don’t wanna know. Okay?”
He nods once before his teeth nip the flesh of my palm.
“Ow!” Ripping my hand away, I cradle it against my chest. I hit him with my best angry eyes. I give good angry eyes. Ask Aaron.
“Why don’t you want to know my name?”
A slow smile spreads across my face, decision made. I don’t know who made it, or rather, what body part. It sure as hell wasn’t my brain.
“Because if I know your name, it’ll be a lot harder for me to do this.”
“Do what?”
I don’t answer him. Not with words, anyway.
