The cocky teen steps back, eyeing me with a frown before retreating to his friends. I guess he knows me, too. Or decided Addie’s not worth the hassle.
I should give her breathing room now the teen isn’t hitting on her, but my fingers gouge harder into the hardwood, the space between my chest and her back less than an inch.
“Where’s your date?” I ask, dipping my head to speak in her ear. “He should be ordering drinks. And he should also know it’s unwise to leave you unattended. You good?”
A faint shudder shakes her, injecting a shot of intoxicating desire into my veins.
She tilts her head to the side, giving me a glimpse of her profile and pink-kissed cheek. “I’m better now.”
What did I say? Confusing as hell.
“Hey, Colt,” the bartender says, stopping before us. “The whole pack here?”
“Just the trio. Give us the usual and a glass of your finest red. Actually, no. Make it a bottle and get me a corkscrew.”
If he’s taken aback by the request, he doesn’t let it show. “Sure, give me a minute.”
I dip my head again, watching Addie’s neck break out in goosebumps at my warm breath on her skin. She smells like orange peel and spring evening on the beach. It’s distracting.
Sheis distracting.
And the way my dick swells in my jeans is definitely the most distracting part. It’s been a while since I had sex. Before the accident, racing and meaningless fucks were how I unwound. Not a week went by without at least one of those happening. Now, it’s just the races. It’s been months since I took a girl home. Six, maybe eight. I stopped counting.
Meaningless quickies lost their appeal when my life was flashing before my eyes.
“So, you were looking for a boring politician?” I ask, shaking off the depressing thoughts. “Where did he go?”
Addie spins around, still held hostage in my arms, looking flushed as she glances at my arms holding her hostage. “Restroom. Didn’t I ask you to give me a week before making contact?”
“Yeah, you did. You also said it’s a test window. Why didn’t Wes get the same treatment?”
A small smile crosses her lips, disappearing when the bartender pushes a corkscrew and a bottle of wine my way.
“Eyes on my hands, Addie,” I urge because she’s staring at my face instead of checking I’m not spiking her drink.
“You’re odd.”
A scoff flies past my lips. “That’s rich coming from you. You’re pretty, but that doesn’t give you the right to treat people like they’re fucking stupid. You could’ve told me you’re not interested instead of letting me think we’ll have dinner next week.” I pop the cork, pour half the glass, then shove the cork back in and hand over the bottle.
I’m ready to walk away, but she grips my wrist, yanking me back with surprising force. Liquid heat fills my chest when her face is suddenly an inch from mine, our breaths mingling.
“I wasinterested, but I’m away for the next week. I leave on Sunday.” She drops my hand, defiance painting her pretty face. “Wesley’s just a transaction.”
That should be my focus point. I know it should. I mean, atransaction? What does that mean?
But that’s not what I get hung up on. “Was,” I say, hands balled into tight fists. “Past tense.”
“Past tense,” she agrees. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my date’s back.” She storms past me, her hips swaying.
The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, taunting me.
Fuck. I thought I knew what rejection tastes like, but the flavor she’s dishing out is the worst kind.
***
I should’ve leftTortugopromptly after Addie’s blatant—if metaphorical—kick to my balls.
Did I?
