“Alright. Then food.”
“A date?” I arch a brow,
letting out a short laugh. “What’re we, sixteen?”
His smile falls away.
He levels me with a gaze.
“You’re right,” he deadpans. “Shoulda just asked if you wanna skip the bullshit and sneak into the bathroom so I can fuck you against the door.”
I blink.
Well…shit.
His gaze doesn’t flinch, it burns.
“What?” His tone drags across gravel with a smirk, all low and dangerous. “Feelin’ a little too grown-up for you now?”
That smile…
That filthy Jersey smile.
But then his voice lies down, stripped.
“Look, honestly? I like talkin’ to you.
“And I wanna keep talkin’ to you.”
I should say words—anything.
But my perverted brain’s stuck on the way he saidfuck.All I can picture is those lips dragging soft over my pussy.
Nothing else.
Just that.
“Most guys just ask for my number and pray they don’t get ghosted.”
He leans in. “Most guys don't deserve a second of your time, aight?”
Fine.
Fair enough.
One point to him.
And a part of me wants this:
Food. Drinks.Him.
But my walls slam the door in her face.
“Andrew,” I say,
handing the words over.
“I don’t date.”
