“Now drink,” I whisper, guiding him.
When he straightens and reaches for it, I hold up my palm.
“Can’t use your hands. It’s the rule.” I wink at him so both the onlookers can see.
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Stupid groan in unison. “I’m telling you, I know what to do!” The older one is practically bouncing in his stool.
Shit, his adult diaper is probably going to fall off if he keeps that up.
Sawyer’s forehead knots, but his hand drops.
The pink triangle of his tongue runs over his pouty lower lip before he bends, his mouth barely brushing my sensitive skin to close around the rim.
Why am I so engrossed in watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows the alcohol?
With a grimace, he drops the cup into his hand and sets it on the ledge.
“Salt,” I exhale.
His head drops, and his warm palm cups my elbow lightly as his mouth works over one of the sprinkled lines.
“Okay, now the lime?” His voice is hoarse.
“This one.” I pick up one of the slices, then pinch the rind between my teeth.
He mouths the word “fuck” and his nostrils flare with a rapid inhale.
Is it that bad?
I showered before work. I don’t stink, damn it. I smell like mint and coconut.
And I’m pretty sure he likes girls. Shit, does he have a girlfriend and I’m putting him in a hard spot?
Now I feel like crap. I should have asked.
Before I can pull out the fruit, his hands frame my cheeks to hold me as he lunges in, tugging the sour slice from my teeth with only the faintest brush of his mouth against mine.
The green wedge practically glows against his red face, but then he quickly tosses it into the garbage.
Without a word, he pushes past me into the kitchen.
Well, hell. I may have screwed the pooch.
But it’s too busy to stop.
Crap.
Chapter 9
Sawyer
I feel weird.
Val’s always been like an older sister. There, but in the background. Working for her was supposed to be an excuse to get some separation from the ranch.
A familiar person to get on my feet about being more independent.
The job is easy. Fast paced enough I don’t have to stare at the clock or get bored.
