“Behind Closed Doors?”She glances down at her dress, then back to me. “Wait, did you think—” Her mouth drops open in shock as she glares at me. “Not everything women do is for men’s entertainment, Hendricks. We aren’t going to a strip club.”
“Burlesque,” I correct automatically, because the only thing my brain can focus on is the fact that she said we aren’t going there.
Thank fuck!
That means I’m not going to have to rearrange anyone’s kneecaps who so much as breathes on her.
There’s a beat of silence, and then…
The sound of a zipper.
The rustle of denim.
My eyes drift over to her—and holy hell.
The truck swerves.
Hard.
“Shit—” My voice cracks like I’m fourteen again because her jeans are halfway down her thighs. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”
“What?” she says innocently while taking them off the rest of the way. “I told you I needed to change.”
“You’re just—you’re stripping your jeans off in my truck like it’s nothing!”
I force my eyes to the road, I really do, but they slide back anyway—traitors. Just glimpses. Her smooth legs. The way her T-shirt has ridden up slightly. Plain cotton underwear that I want to get my fingers under.
I’m sweating.Actually sweating.
“What? Are you afraid of a little skin, Scotty?” she teases. “The guy who introduced himself to me penis-first is suddenly shy?”
Deep breaths, Hendricks. Deep, cleansing breaths.
“Clearly you aren’t,” I mutter, adjusting in my seat. There’s no comfortable position right now. Everything is too tight, too warm, too—
“Oh, please. I’m wearing more clothes than most girls wear to the beach.” She points at herself matter-of-factly. “You’ll survive.”
Maybe. Maybe not.
Her shirt falls mid-thigh. Objectively, she’s right, this is more coverage than a bikini, but somehow the context makes it infinitely worse, or better. I can’t tell anymore. All the blood is rushing away from my brain.
“Most girls aren’t you,” I mumble before I can stop myself.
“What was that?”
Shit.
“Nothing, Princess.” I clear my throat. “Just keep doing your thing over there.”
Translation: Please stop doing your thing over there. It’s driving me to the point of insanity.
I take another glance, and she’s grabbing the hem of her shirt.
No.
No, she’s not—
She pulls it off in one smooth motion.
