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“How old is your mom?” I ask as we wait for dessert. Stanley raises a brow at my question. “She looks so young.”
Stanley shifts on his seat next to me, passing his arm around my shoulders.
“That’s because she is,” he answers. “I was born when my mom was seventeen.”
My eyes widen.
“Wow, that’s… Shit, really?”
He laughs at my reaction.
“That’s the most genuine reaction I’ve gotten from you,” Stan mentions. “But yeah, that’s why she’s so open-minded with the whole sex talk. Mom was a kid when she had a kid.”
I can only imagine how difficult that must’ve been. My mother had James when she was in college, and it was hard enough. Thinking about what Stan’s mom had to go through to raise him makes me nauseous. She was two years younger than me. I still consider myself too young to even think about having someone in my life; a baby would be pure hell.
Not to be dramatic or anything, but I’d rather die than get pregnant at this age.
“That’s a tough life.”
“I guess. But mom was a rockstar with me. I mean, I turned out pretty great, didn’t I?” Stan quips, adding a lighter tone to our talk, and winks at me.
I smile.
“You could’ve been better,” I lie, playfully.
Stan rolls his eyes. “Oh, is that so?”
There’s a trace of a warning on his voice as if he was telling me to take back my words before he decides to do something else. A week ago, I would’ve dropped it and changed the topic. Tonight? Tonight I feel reckless, the chaos in my chest wanting to wreak havoc while I still can. I want to provoke him, push his buttons to see where it leads us.
Passing the tip of my tongue over my bottom lip, I lean closer to him, taking advantage of the half circle booth.
“Hmm, you may have to prove me otherwise,” I dare him in a whisper so that the words only reach his ears.
The restaurant is not full. There are more empty tables than occupied ones, but I don’t want anyone overhearing. Especially when I’m trying to test if he’s willing to do something about it.
I want Stanley to turn this game upside down.
Stanley inclines, his nose caressing my neck for a split second. It’s enough to send shivers through my spine, but I stay still, waiting. He’s only teasing the area.
“Are you looking to get us into trouble?” Stan wonders.
I gulp.
“Are you?” I retort, making sure that I sound flirty and not a quivering mess.
Stan smiles in the curve of my neck, and his lips meet the skin for a brief instant. The contact ignites the spark between us, turning it into a forest fire.
“Only if we get caught,” Stanley mutters as he drops his other hand under the tablecloth, finding my thigh.
Playful and teasing fingers caress along the parts of my legs that the dress doesn’t cover. A gasp gets stuck in my throat, along with the words that I was going to say. My brain forgets everything that I had in mind before this.
Oh, my God. Are we doing this?
I steal a glance at the place, trying to see if someone is paying attention to us. The last thing that I want is for someone to notice that Stan has his hand on me, touching me under the table in averypublic place. Biting my tongue, I do my best to abstain from making any noises that want to escape my mouth.
Once I make sure that no one is even looking at us, I turn to him.
“You weren’t kidding about the dress,” I say, remembering his words.
