“What?”
“Yeah, where do you want it?” He gestures toward the wall that I’m standing against. “Here, up against the wall? Or in the back seat of my car.” He doesn’t give me the time to respond to his statement. “It’s been two years, but I remember how much you seemed to love writhing on my leather seats. And if I’m being honest, I’d love to see that again. But lady’s choice, of course.”
“What… I…”
As I sputter out confused syllables, I understand his meaning.
His stupid meaning.
He’s talking about all the times I danced and writhed on his leather seats while he took me out on those rides. While he put on the music and I danced for him even when I was sitting down.
Because I loved dancing for him. Because I was an idiot.
I loved writhing on his lap too. That one time in the rain…
But I don’t want to think about that right now.
Not in front of him.
“You’re funny,” I tell him and his wolf eyes sparkle with humor. “Anddelusional. If you think I’m letting you touch me ever again, you need your head examined.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” I grit my teeth at his condescending tone, at the tone that has the power to make me feel all young and naïve. “Because it’s never happening. So say what you came here to say and leave.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “Hmm. I’m not so sure you want me to leave though. Because this feels like a dare, and you know how much I like those.”
I know.
I do know.
He likes dares. He likes provocation. He likes to rile people up and ruffle their feathers like he used to do with Ledger on the field. When they played together back at Bardstown High. When they were rivals.
As I debate throwing this bottle at him, I say, “It’s not a dare, it’s reality. Touch me and lose your teeth. So you really need to leave now.”
Instead, he takes a step toward me and I press myself into the wall even more.
“You’re not making it easy though,” he drawls. “Leaving.”
“Get away from me or I’ll punch you, okay? I’m not kidding.”
Of course he thinks I’m kidding and does the opposite of what I’m asking him to do.
He takes another step toward me and I swear to God, it’s such a big step that he’s almost here. He’s almost where I am and I have to hold my breath because I don’t want to breathe the same air as him.
I don’t want to find out if his scent, his delicious scent, has remained the same after two years or not.
“If you keep talking like that,” he dips his face toward me, reminding me of how short I am compared to him, “I’ll start getting ideas.”
“What ideas?” I squeak, wondering how it is possible that I forgot the difference in our sizes.
When I lived for those differences back then.
I lived for how tall he was, how strong, how he could pick me up while I danced on my toes for him.
“That you’re flirting with me,” he says in a husky tone.
I ignore the pounding of my heart and the rush under my skin. “Oh my God, youaredelusional.”
