The door to the back hallway is beyond the bar, which means I get to walk right past Heathcliff. I cut as close to him as I dare and give my hips a little extra sway as I head for the restrooms.
The rear hallway is isolated, separate from the kitchen entrance. There are three doors—bathrooms for men, women, and all genders. On the wall hangs a large board with concert posters and service ads pinned to it. The men’s bathroom is at the far end of the hall, its signbarely discernible because one of overhead lights is out.
I head into the women’s restroom, but I don’t really have to pee, so I just run my fingers through my curls for a couple seconds and check my chewed lip in the mirror. Then I head back out into the hallway…just as Heathcliff strides down it.
My heart soars up and lands in my throat, choking off my breath. I shift aside to let him pass, but he grabs my shoulders and shoves me into the single-stall, multigender bathroom. He kicks the door shut and turns the lock.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I whisper-yell at him.
Silently he crowds me back against the wall, plants tattooed hands on either side of my head, and stares me down.
My pulse is rocket fast, and the millions of nerves across my skin are all screaming at once, demanding to touch him or be touched by him.
He leans in, his breath hot against my face. “So that’s your type? That soft little preacher boy?”
“Edgar is a gentleman. Something you’ll never be.”
Heathcliff laughs roughly. “No shit.”
“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” I hiss. “Is this some kind of intimidation tactic? You trying to scare me, threaten me?”
The humor leaves his eyes. “You’re still worried I’m gonna tell your secret. I won’t.”
The weight in his tone settles my heart. I’m not sure I should believe him, but I do. “All right.” I nod, expecting him to back off.
He doesn’t move, and my heart rate ratchets up again. He ducks his head, his lips and nose skimming the waves of my hair. When he speaks, it’s low, resonant. “Did you keep that pussy wet for me, Cathy?”
God, yes. “You’re such a creep. Let me go.”
“You wanna walk out, go. I’m not touching you. Not gonnakeep you here.”
He might not be touching me, but he’s holding me captive with his presence, with the beauty of those magnificent arms, with the surge of his heavy breath under that plaid shirt and the visible swell of his dick against the zipper of his jeans. He’s trapping me with his musky, spicy scent and with that sarcastic, seductive mouth.
“I’m not going to fuck you while I’m on a date with Edgar,” I whisper savagely.
“Then when?”
“Never.”
“Huh. I thought you were the kind of woman who does what she wants.”
“I don’twantto fuck you.”
His body surges forward, and I gasp. He’s still not touching me but there’s scarcely a finger’s width between his chest and mine. His hips sway nearer, the bulge between his legs almost brushing my lower belly. “Liar,” he breathes. “You want me so bad, you can hardly think about anything else.”
Swallowing hard, I picture Edgar Linton waiting for me at our table, waiting while I yank down my shorts and bend over for Heathcliff, while he pumps that thick cock into me again… Fuck. If I weren’t on a date right now…
But Iamon a date.
I can be catty, selfish, bitter, and judgmental. But I have standards, and also I have willpower, born from years of controlling my banshee side, guiding my own wanderings despite every compulsive instinct.
This is a line I won’t cross.
I tip my face up until my lips almost touch Heathcliff’s, until his eyes go unfocused with desire and anticipation.
Then I duck under his arm, unlock the door, and leave thebathroom.
I regret the choice instantly. I have to sit across from Edgar, thinking about what Heathcliff and I could have done in that bathroom, enduring the slickness between my thighs, watching Heathcliff stalk back into the main room and resume his conversation with the man at the bar. I should have asked him who the man is. Not that he’d have answered.
