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“What about him?” Fletcher asks.
“Won’t he be mad?”
Fletcher reaches out and touches my hand again. Electricity pulses between us. Connection, heat, desire. I can’t believe this is all in my head. I can’t believe he’s not experiencing this, too. I refuse to accept that he’s some playboy taking advantage of me. It doesn’t feel like that, but what if I’m wrong? I tighten my grip on his hand, listening to feelings instead of thoughts.
“He’ll have to accept it,” Fletcher says.
“You’re going to tell him?” I ask.
“Don’t you want me to?”
I think of how he sounded on the phone, his bitter voice with anger. James might throw a major fit if Fletcher tells him, forcing Fletcher to choose between us. This is so selfish of me. “You don’t have to,” I say. “It might make things awkward. Anyway, it’s just one date, right?”
For a fleeting moment, this seems to make him angry, but then he nods. “Exactly,” he says. “It’s just one date.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Fletcher
“Just one date,” I mutter as I drive toward Samantha’s house. It’s notjustanything. It’s so much more.
When I saw her in the gym, it took everything in me not to rush over, grab her, and grind my manhood against her eager, young, fertile virgin body. Seeing her sitting on the unit with her legs folded and flushed cheeks made me think of her pink and needy pussy. Fuck, I’m getting hard. I’m forgetting about everything else. Even my son. Even Loki. All I can think about is my woman.
I park down the street, like she asked me to do via text. It makes me feel seedy as I take out my phone and message her to let her know I’m here. I should approach the door and introduce myself to her mother. As I wait, I try not to think about what James said. He said helovesher. Love. He’s made it clear by his calls that he’s going to pursue her.
So what thehellam I doing, exactly? My thoughts start to spin. I see James as a little boy, looking up at me with a smile everybody said was similar to mine. I remember Margot whispering, “He looks just like you,” with that desperation in her eyes, that need for me to be human, to feel something. Sometimes, maybe often, I don’t think I’m a good person.
I can push all that aside when I see Samantha walking up the street. She’s wearing a blue dress that hugs her hips and shows off just enough of her thick legs to make my balls swell. She’s straightened her hair, giving her a sophisticated look. Stepping from the car, I open the passenger-side door. “Thank you,” she says softly, looking at me under her eyelashes, the look that drives me feral.
Before she climbs in, I lean forward and brush my lips against hers. I only mean for it to be a quick kiss. She hesitates for a moment, but then the heat swells between us. We push together with more heat, more purpose. She grabs my body and presses her fingernails through my shirt.
“We should probably stop,” she says, breaking the kiss off breathily.
“Why’s that?” I ask, holding my face close to hers, savoring her breath moving over me.
I can feel her smile against me. “Because…”
“Don’t get shy now, my perfect painter.”
“What if wecan’tstop?” she whispers, sounding as if she has to force the words out with difficulty.
“Fair point…” I slide my hand down to her hip, gently nudging her toward the car.
Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I can’t stop myself from leaning over and kissing her again. Deep inside, I imagine James glaring at me, hating me, but my woman’s right. I can’t stop. The kiss gets deeper. I smooth my hand up her leg. We’re in public. Anybody could see us, but I want her soppy slit so goddamn badly.
She grabs my wrist, stopping me before I slip under her dress. “F-Fletcher,” she says, moaning. “I thought this was a date. Not just…”
I lean back with an effort, looking down at my woman. The nerves in her eyes are easily readable. “It is a date,” I tell her. “You just make me so crazy, but I’ll try to be good.”
She smiles shakily. She seems on the edge, always. On the edge of lust. On the edge of anxiety. “Me too.”
* * *
She doesn’t comment that I drive her to the far, far side of the city. She’s a smart woman. I’m sure she knows it has to do with the fact that I don’t want James or her mom to spot us together. As I lead her into the Italian place, I keep my hand on her back, struggling not to smooth my touch lower and grip her thick ass. I want everybody in here to know she belongs to me.
We have the VIP table on a small balcony overlooking the rest of the restaurant. The angle gives us privacy. Across from us, the chandelier sparkles, catching light. Italian jazz plays through the speaker system, the music relaxing despite my inability to understand a single word.
“This is great,” Samantha says, looking around with a big grin on her face.
