She wrenches her hand from mine, pursing her lips and glaring at me. “You were doing so well until you opened your mouth.”
“He only wants you for one thing, and the second he gets, it he’ll lose all interest,” the nerd says, and he’s transparent as fuck.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I coolly retort, “and you don’t get to disrespect Presley like that.” I smother a laugh when he puts his chest all up in mine, pretending like he could take me.As if.I bench press more than his body weight without breaking a sweat.
“I know a self-righteous prick when I see one,” he hisses.
“Desperation is not a good look on you, man. And you reek of it.” I grin, because it’s comical this guy thinks he’s my competition.
“Okay. Enough.” Presley pushes in between us, forcing us both back. “This isn’t a pissing contest.” She smiles at Jimi, but it’s full of sympathy, and no dude ever wants to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles.
Crash and burn, asshole. I fix him with a smug smile from behind her back. Sucks to be you, dude.
“I’ll see you next week, Jimi.”
“Fuck you, Presley,” he snaps, pushing past her. “I’m done.”
Thank fuck for that. Good riddance to the jerk. “Wow. What a charmer he turned out to be.”
Presley presses her lips together, watching his retreating back with a slight frown. “I thought I set him straight last week. He knows I’m not interested in him like that.”
I knew she wouldn’t be. Call me cocky, but I see the way she looks at me, and that twerp could never match up. “I think he got the memo now.”
Reaching for Presley’s hand, I wrap my larger palm around her smaller, softer one. A weird fluttery feeling descends in my chest the second her skin makes contact with mine, accompanied by a rake of little shivers cascading up and down my arm. She startles a little, so I’m guessing she felt that jolt of electricity too. Her eyes lower to our conjoined hands as her fingers press more firmly against mine. Her gaze is a mix of confused awe when she lifts her head, and her eyes lock on mine.
Makes two of us, babe. I’ve no clue what kind of freaky cosmic energy is at work here, but this mad chemistry we share is not unwelcome or unpleasant. We stare at each other, our hands interlocked, and in the depths of her warm brown eyes lies so much hidden meaning and so much potential. Fear threatens to resurface, but I tamp it down, pulling her in next to me. Closing my eyes, I press a soft kiss to her temple, inhaling the vanilla scent wafting from her hair, reveling in the feel of her velvety-soft skin under my lips. “Ready to get out of here?” My voice is thick with longing.
“Yes,” she whispers, and when I open my eyes, I’m pleased to see hers are shut too. I hope it means she’s committing me to memory in the same way I’m memorizing her.
We walk in silence across the road, turning the block to reach my car. I put the box with her art supplies on the back seat of my BMW X5 before opening the passenger side door for her.
“Nice car,” she says, glancing all around as I slide behind the wheel.
“Thanks.” The engine purrs as I power her up. “My brother Keven drives one of these, and he recommended it.” I glide out into the traffic, casting a quick glance at her. “Are you hungry? Do you want to grab something to eat before your shift?”
“I don’t have time.”
“We could grab something from a food truck. Are there any on the way?” I’m not familiar with Mattapan because I usually Uber it to the bar and back.
“We could stop at the burrito bar. It’s around the block from Ramshackle.”
“Okay, perfect.” I tap it into my GPS system, and we pull up in front of the silver trailer a few minutes later.
Climbing out of the car, I race around the hood in time to open Presley’s door for her.
“Thank you.” Her smile seems genuine as I help her out, and I tuck it away on my mental notepad for future reference.
“What’s good?” I ask as we survey the menu.
“Everything. The chicken burrito is my favorite though.”
We stand in line, and I clear my throat. “Why did you return my gift? Did I buy the wrong things?” I’ll admit I know jack shit about art, but the lady in the store said every artist worth their salt wants a Caran d’Ache set.
She shakes her head, and waves of her dark, glossy hair tumble invitingly over her shoulders.
She has fabulous hair.
Plenty I can wrap around my fist, using it to yank her head back as I take her from behind. My dick stirs to life behind my zipper, and I force all thoughts of a naked Presley from my mind before I’m sprouting a full boner. Not gonna lie. I’m dying to get this woman underneath me. But it’s more than that. And I don’t want to fuck it up by letting my hormones overrule my head.
