“You’re the one who’s being a prude.” I pulled a strand of her ponytail to annoy her more.
“I am not being a prude,” she gasped. “They’re the same thing, just different words.”
I didn’t know whether it was the alcohol, the fact that she’d been pressed up against me all fucking week practicing our routine, or whether I was just a glutton for punishment, but sitting this close, the electricity between us made me want to press her further—pull us into territory I’d been careful until now to avoid.
“There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Have you ever been fucked, or have you onlymade love?” I asked, leaningin.
I instantly regretted the mocking lilt to my tone.
But she made me proud, setting her shoulders back. Determination flashed in her eyes as she held my gaze.
“No, I haven’t beenfucked.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“You’ve never had dirty sex?” I asked, my dick twitching in my jeans.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she shook her head.
Images of fucking Matilda ran rampant through my mind. A shiver shot down my spine, each visual more intoxicating than the last.
The warmth of her leg seeped through my jeans, reminding me how close we sat. We’d never pushed it this far. I couldn’t deny that over the past few weeks we’d gotten closer, but now the air crackled with tension that felt like standing too close to an open flame.
Her eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite place, but when they dipped to my lips, it was like a silent invitation. Her breath caught, lips ever so slightly parted. My hand moved toward her thigh of its own volition, desperate to feelthe—
“Can I get you any more drinks?”
I pulled my hand back like I’d been stung.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The waitress fiddled with the notebook in her hand, her eyes bouncing betweenus.
Matilda had scooted back an inch, but that was all it took. Despite the flush on her cheeks, any residual heat from our conversation melted away.
“Can I get anyone another drink?” the waitress asked again, looking between us sheepishly.
“I think we’d best get going; we’ve got an early start tomorrow,” Jack said from across the table.
Lily groaned into her hands. “Ugh, I’ve got an early dance class.” She looked at the waitress. “Could we just get the bill, please?”
“Oh, it’s been charged directly to Mr. Vasvault’s account.”
I narrowed my eyes at Jack, who just snorted.
“He said to charge it to your account today, sir. Is thatOK?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Could you please call us two taxis against Jack’s account?” The waitress nodded and shuffled away.
As we slid out of the booth, Lily attempted to discreetly widen her eyes at Matilda when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I didn’t catch Matilda’s silent reply, but her cheeks were flushed pink the entire walk to the taxis.
When I went to collectour costumes for week five, the Wardrobe staff said Matilda’s needed a few final touches. By the time they called an hour later to say it was ready, I was midway through hair and makeup, so Matilda skipped off to collect it.
She returned after an hour, ready and made-up.
