Perfect.
I elbow JT in the gut for chuckling and step into her space, closing the distance between us. I don’t say a word at first, just letting the weight of the moment settle in. “Clean it up,” I say, my voice low but firm.
Her eyes flick up to mine. Her body tightens, a subtle adjustment that tells me she’s assessing me.
I watch her. The flicker of surprise I expected is absent. A little rattled by my command, but she’s holding steady.
I can tell she’s repeating my three little words over in her brain, deciding whether I’m serious. And I am. I seriously want to see if she’ll give up a little grace and relax the death grip she has over control.
Will’s probably salivating at the thought of dropping to the concrete to clean up the mess the right way, but that’s not what I’m after. It’s Sable I’m focused on.
I don’t expect her to clean up the mess. Hell, I’m not even sure she could in that dress.ButGod, what I wouldn’t give to see her on her knees for me, the snug black fabric riding up her tight ass. The thought has blood rushing to my cock. It stiffens against the seam of my jeans.
Is she scrappy, like her little friend? Or will she hold herself back and submit?
Her lips press together, eyes narrowing just so. She’s considering it.That’swhat I’m after. The reaction. Does she let me lead, or does she push back?
Her confidence speaks volumes, but I can feel it—something more hidden underneath.
Of course, Will drops down to pick up the mess, the fucking neat freak tendencies kicking in full force. The guy’s practically having a mini meltdown at the sight of cake lying there on a dirty ass sidewalk for even a few seconds.
Sable watches him, a quiet little smirk on those pouty lips, clearly enjoying the show. It’s a rare thing to see someone keep that kind of control. But then, she turns her attention back to me.
“We aren’t getting in now, are we?” she asks, the words slipping from her glossed lips with an adorable charm. I swear, all I hear is her asking if she’s been naughty, waiting to learn what her punishment will be. My mind takes off with the thoughts of what I might do to get her to behave.
She’s testing me, no doubt.
It’s a simple question, but it lands on me as an unspoken challenge. I step closer, my voice low but direct, my tone still laced with that edge, giving her a warning about keeping her friend in line.
I can see her eyes flicker with something… maybe curiosity, maybe more.
“Watch your back, birthday girl.”
I don’t know why I said it that way. Maybe I meant it as a warning, but part of me wonders if it came out as something else entirely.
Her friend loops her arm through Sable’s, leading her inside. Red’s laugh trails behind, that wicked invitation about “red-velvety sweet spots” echoing in my mind.
My pulse kicks up. What I wouldn’t give to taste every inch of Sable’s sweetness myself. I’d beg to lap up every drop of her.
Sable—damn—moves away from me, claiming every inch of my bar as she steps into it.
I resist the urge to follow. Giving myself a minute to let things settle down in my pants. She’s a distraction, and I’m not used to feeling this way over a woman I just met.
But I’ll be watching. I’ll be keeping an eye on Sable Hawthorne.
My typical Friday nights consist of loungewear and the latest unhinged romance novel. But tonight, Demi could talk me into just about anything.
And maybe that is directly influenced by the low-grade buzz still humming under my skin, ignited by Demi’s cake-fueled bedlam. The gold tequila burns on the way down, a languid, smoldering heat that spreads through my chest before settling into something akin to comfort—almost. I’m careful not to take another sip too soon.
Warmth lingers in my core from the raw heat that sizzled between me and the gorgeous guy at the threshold.
Hex.
My eyes flick over the crowd, scanning the room for his leather jacket, and that unreadable expression. I’m being ridiculous. Barely ten minutes in and my cheeks are warm, my body restless from a full-blown schoolgirl crush. I blame the way he looked at me. He didn’t just see me. He examined me, piece by piece, the way someone studies a puzzle they fully intend to solve.
I exhale sharply, shaking it off as Demi slides into the booth, settling beside me, her phone already out. “Alright, birthday girl,” she chides, angling the screen toward me, “let’s get this thirst trap on record.”
I give her that flat lip, dead eye stare she’s so used to, but lean in anyway. The booth’s tucked into the back of the bar, lit just enough to be flattering, and the perfect spot for people-watching or disappearing. Demi knows exactly what she’s doing as she angles her phone. If I have to be in this photo, I might as well make it count. I throw on my best sultry smirk.
