He says nothing, merely stares, and my skin prickles with a mix of excitement and embarrassment, warmth spreading from the inside out. He’s right there. Out of some lousy karmic luck, Ladder Guy is sitting right in front of me, right as I’m giving another man a shot.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a lawyer who gets as tongue-tied as you do, red,” he amusedly says after several seconds.
“What are you doing here?”
He cocks his eyebrow up, leans back, and crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest. The sleeves of his Iron Maiden hoodie are bunched up, revealing his tattooed forearms. “Me? I’m here every Friday evening, love. But you, why are you here? Were you missing me terribly?”
“I’ve barely given you a thought, actually,” I boldly lie. I might get tongue-tied, but lying is something I’ve been perfecting since childhood.
His intense gaze darkens, his jaw ticking. “Really? You haven’t been thinking about me fucking you? About me ravaging your tight and drenched little—”
“I’m here on a date,” I interrupt before he can finish his question. Somehow, his cocky assurance pushes me to fight and show him he isn’t all that. “He picked the place, so I had no idea we’d end up here.”
Jake switches positions, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the side of the table, interlacing his inked fingers together. I can’t stop my eyes from dropping to them, vividly remembering how they were inside me, deftly pleasuring me.
“You expect me to believe that, Genevieve?” he asks.
“Believe whatever you want,Jacob. The fact of the matter is that I’m here with someone, and I’d appreciate it if you were gone when he comes back.”
“Why? Are you worried I’ll scare him away?”
I open my mouth to reply, but Owen picks that exact moment to return with a pint of beer and my martini. I look away from Jake’s cavernous gaze to witness his confused expression. “Uh, Jessica, do you know this guy?”
“Yes,” Jake replies right when I say, “No.”
I glare at him, far from being as amused as he is. “He was leaving,” I say, offering a fake smile to the invader.
“Was I?”
“You were.”
To my surprise, he chuckles, raises his hands in surrender, and steps out of the booth.
“Have a nice date,Jessica,” he offers, clearly entertained. Then he pats Owen’s shoulder harder than needed, which shakes him enough to make beer spill on the wooden floor. “Good luck with that one, mate.”
The entire time Jake walks to the bar, my eyes throw daggers at his back. Something about his impunity stirs at my core, making me want to prove him wrong, to show him he isn’t the demigod he clearly thinks he is.
“Small world, eh?” Owen says, tearing me from my thoughts. He’s sitting in front of me now, and the first thing that comes to mind is how frail he looks compared to the man who was just there.
“Toosmall, if you ask me,” I reply sardonically.
“It’s nice that we got to do this. I seriously needed a break after the awful week I had.”
“Oh?”
That’s all it takes for Owen to launch himself into a lengthy monologue, telling me how his courses are too complicated and how he can barely keep up with his assignments. He picked the wrong person because while med school is challenging, I had it harder—a JD/MBA joint degree with a triple specialization in corporate law, international law, and labor and employment law.Thatwas inhumane, but I managed.
As much as I want to pretend that any of this interests me, my attention keeps drifting to Jake, who stands by the bar five paces away from us. He’s leaning back on the counter, his tall frame dressed in black, jeans molding his powerful legs to perfection, while his hoodie barely hides the broadness of his chest and shoulders.
To make matters worse, it seems he’s decided to stare at me all night, his razor-sharp focus fixed on me every time I dare to meet his eyes. Under their influence, I sense myself growing embarrassingly hot, that space between my legs slowly awakening. Of all the bars in Brooklyn, we had to end up in this one?
When ten minutes have passed and Jake hasn’t stopped staring, I decide I must do something about it. My martini is already half gone, and I empty the rest in three gulps. “Excuse me,” I cut Owen off. “I need to get myself another one.”
Without waiting for his reply, I slide off the cushioned bench and make my way to the bar, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill from my purse. Jake’s impudent smile as I approach is hard to miss, and when I squeeze into the space by his side, he turns to face away from the room, too.
“How’s your date going, red?” he asks while I try to get a bartender’s attention. The woman is pouring a row of shots, and the man, a broad and dangerous-looking guy, is busy serving draft beers.
“Great. He’s very interesting.”
