“Good. Glad we’re on the same page. Also, she’s never gotten drunk before, so… just get her home and take care of her, okay? It’s her twenty-first birthday; she only gets it once,” Lennon adds, and his eyes flare, the age difference between us glaringly obvious, per usual.
Who cares that I’m in college and you’re a coach?I want to scream it, but even in my drunken, chaotic state, I don’t.
At least, not yet.
Lennon pulls me into her arms and hugs me so tight that I can hardly breathe before she pulls back and stares at me. “You have your phone, right?” When I nod, she keeps going. “If you need me, I’m a phone call away. It doesn’t matter what time it is, I’ll come pick you up. And I have your location, and I’ll randomly show up, just to make sure you’re good.” She says the last part louder, and I giggle, realizing it was not for my benefit but Wilder’s.
His jaw is tense, but I see the hint of a smile, the one he’s trying to hide away.
Lennon knows that I’m safe with him. She knows that I would’ve chosen this tomorrow, or yesterday, or even a week ago. The man is her boyfriend’s coach. Not like he has anywhere to run where she can’t find him.
“Love you, byeeeee!”
With one last, lingering look, she turns and walks back to the bar, which thankfully isn’t far, so I can watch her until she disappears back inside the entrance.
“So…” I mutter. “You’re here.Why is itthatyou’re here again?”
I know that I’m taunting him, but it’s way too much fun to stop.
Likely will not be so fun tomorrow, but right now, all of my fucks are gone. Probably still inside the club at the bottom of those fruity drink glasses.
All six of them. Or was it eight of them?
“Get in the truck, Maisie,” is all Mr. Big Dick and Bad Attitude says with his stupid hot face, his stupid hot muscles stretching his T-shirt.
When I don’t move, my feet staying planted in place, crossing my arms over my chest, his brow arches.
In the kind of way that saystry me.
And God, do I want to. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the fact that I like pushing him, but I like seeing him teetering on the edge of something invisible but inevitable.
I want to make him as crazy as he makes me feel.
Tugging my lip between my teeth, I don’t move, knowing that I’m baiting him, wanting him to cross the line he keeps drawing between us. Like he doesn’t just blow right through it every single time he tries to put it back.
“Do you have any fucking idea what I want to do to every motherfucker in that building who saw you in that dress tonight?” he rasps as he steps closer, every hard piece of his front pressed against my front, but his hands remain fisted at his sides as he shakes his head, his eyes wild. “Knowing you were in there, moving that pretty little ass around, dancing with nothing underneath this dress?”
I wish that my breath didn’t quicken from how close he is. I wish that my heart didn’t always pound like it’s trying to burst out of the cage holding it back simply from the smell of him, or the fact that he feels familiar and comfortable in the most intimate way.
I shake my head.
“You make me fucking crazy, Maisie. You make me want to risk everything just for a taste of your sweet little college girl pussy. Risk my entire goddamnlifeto have you again.”
Oh my God.
Is the ground moving, or is it him?
I reach out to steady myself, my fingers tangling into the front of his shirt, and he sighs, a tortured sound tearing out of his throat. “Just get in the truck. Okay? You’ve been drinking all night, and you’re barely standing. Please, just get in the truck.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
Apleasefrom Wilder Hawthorne?
Damn. I’m way drunker than I thought.
It might be the way that he murmured the word or the look on his face as he says it, but for once, I do as I’m told and brush past him, walking to the truck without muttering a single bratty response.
As badly as I want to.
