He taps his chin as if trying to place it; the corners of his mouth barely lift. His eyes shine with mischief, pure teasing, the kind meant only for me. Not outing or accusing, just seeing how close he can toe the line without crossing it.
“No, you’re right, I’m mixing you up. That girl was wearing a leather thong.”
The mimosa goes down the wrong way. I cough, eyes watering, and put my hand over my mouth.
“Talon,” Abi snaps, eyes wide. “That is disgusting. We are at brunch.”
He raises his palms as if innocent. “Just a joke.”
“Watch your mouth,” she hisses.
Color creeps up his neck. He drops his gaze, mutters, “Excuse me,” and stands, heading for the hallway toward the restrooms.
I dab my lips with my napkin. “I should wash my hands before the food comes,” I say, pushing back my chair.
Abi barely glances at me. My dad nods.
I slip away and quicken my pace once I’m clear of their line of sight. The hallway to the restrooms is empty. Talon is at the far end, near a framed painting of a sailboat, shoulders tense.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss as I reach him, keeping my voice low.
He turns, leans back against the wall. “Talking.”
“You practically announced my sex life at the table.”
He lifts one shoulder. “No names. No details. They’re clueless.”
“You can’t play like that.”
He studies my face, eyes a little too bright. “I see something I want. I’m not dropping it.”
“This is not how you win me over,” I say, stepping in closer so I don’t have to raise my voice. “It’s how you piss me off.”
He smiles, slowly. “You say win you over like I’m not already in your head.”
I want to slap him. I want to kiss him. Both feelings hit at once, hot and sharp.
“Just say yes,” he says quietly. “One real date. Dinner. Just us. No club. No games.”
“I could lose my TA position,” I remind him. “I’ve told you this.”
“We’d be careful,” he says. “Nobody is looking at us that hard.”
“Wrong,” I whisper. I tip my head back, stare at the ceiling for a second. “Dammit, Talon.”
“Think about it,” he says. His voice drops lower. “I’m not running to Daddy to tell him his precious angel plays leather dress up. I’m not the enemy here.”
My gaze snaps to his. He licks his bottom lip like he knows exactly what he is doing.
“And for what it’s worth,” he adds, looking down at my body in a slow sweep, “this is a sexy outfit too. Much better than the club outfits.”
Heat licks up my spine, sliding lower, tightening somewhere deep in a way I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. It annoys me how fast it happens, how easily he manages to light a spark where I don’t want one.
I grab his shirt and kiss him.
There’s no build up. One second I’m furious, the next my mouth is on his. He reacts fast, a surprised sound caught between us before his hands slide into my hair. His fingers tighten at the nape of my neck, pulling me in. His lips are warm and eager, and that cocky tilt shifts into something hungrier.
He tries to lead. I bite his lower lip hard enough to make him suck in a breath. His grip tightens. Our mouths fight for control, tongues tangling. My body presses into his without thinking; his chest is solid, his hips already reacting. Every alarm bell in my brain rings, and none of them win.
