I glance back at the bar
through the waiters floating by with trays.
Andrew’s pouring expensive scotch into crystal.
The bar lights hit him,
throwing shadow across his jaw.
When he sets it down, he finds me instantly.
One look makes the room hush,
a pulse of silence dropping between us.
Ben moves closer,
arm falling lazy across the back of my chair.
He leans in, all perspiration and cologne.
He murmurs low in my ear.
The moment Ben brushes my hair off my shoulder, I feel Andrew simmering under my skin.
I drag my hand up Ben’s arm, the thought of Andrew seething sending a thrill down my spine.
This isn’t about making him jealous.
(Yes it is.)
But this is what happens when you hold my breath hostage for ten days.
He’s the one who chose restraint.
I’m just choosing… the opposite of restraint.
I lean into Ben,
my breath trailing down his throat,
and I press a featherlight kiss
right under his jaw.
When I pull back, I lift my glass,
brushing my bottom lip across the rim,
my gaze sliding back to Andrew.
His fingers are strangling the edge of the bar,
knuckles ghost-pale.
Ben follows my gaze, finding where my attention is pointed. “Mm. You puttin’ on a performance?”
I smirk. “Enjoying it?”
