“Sure. I’d love to.”
Jet didn’t say anything. He just swooped up his drink and turned, weaving through the crowd. I followed him, my eyes dancing from the bounce of his firm ass, tight in a pair of worn denim, to the dark tattoos that inched down his forearms. He raised his glass slightly, acknowledging someone who called out his name, then led me to a small, round table in the far back corner.
I was tall, kind of stocky, and not many people matched my size. But moving behind Jet, I could feel the pull of his body, nice and strong.
“So, Peyton,” he said as he slid into a chair. “How’s your night?”
I sat across from him. “Not bad. Just stopped by after work for a drink.”
Which was basically true, if you skipped the part where I went home to psych myself up while gargling way too much mouthwash and obsessively re-combing my hair.
“How about you?” I asked, dropping my voice as I tried to fake confidence.
Jet shrugged. “It’s a pre-work drink for me.”
“Late shift?”
“I’m a DJ, so it’s pretty much always the late shift.”
A DJ. Of course. That explained the fact that Jet was, for lack of a better word, painfully cool. As I understood it, DJs had to be technically skilled on top of following the newest music trends, frequenting the hot clubs, that kind of thing.
It sounded exhausting.
Jet lifted his drink, clear liquid and a lime slice sloshing in the glass, and I noticed the elegant strength to his large hands around the glass and the tongue stud that flashed when he popped an ice cube in his mouth and crunched down on it.
He was definitely a DJ.
“A DJ, nice,” I said and offered a smile.
My ex-girlfriends Camille’s voice echoed in the back of my head again, reminding me that I was, in fact, the antithesis of cool. I was boring not just in life, but in bed, especially, at least according to her. And it’s not like I had a way to argue. As with all of my few, short relationships, my sex drive had started uninspired and then sputtered out to nearly nonexistent.
Deep down, I knew that I wanted something different than mechanical, routine sex. I knew that I wanted more than a halfhearted quickie every few weeks. I just hadn’t had any luck finding a person who I actually wanted to do more with.
Hell, I hadn’t even figured out what I wanted moreofin the first place.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I held Jet’s blue eyes steady and did the only thing I could think to do.
I faked the hell out of being someone he might sleep with.
“Do you, uh, spin here, ever?” I asked, gesturing to the bar.
I thought that was the way to say it, anyway.
“Not here,” he answered. “My nights are more high-paced.” He tapped a finger in the air and made a cymbal-like noise, chirping against his teeth, and I immediately heard the rhythm of a techno song beneath the beat he summoned. “You go dancing?”
I shook my head. “Not really. My brother and my friends try to drag me out sometimes, but I prefer a quiet bar.” I tried to say that smoothly, pushing some innuendo intoquiet bar. I thought I’d failed, but then Jet’s foot brushed against mine.
Like a reward, pleasure jolted up my leg.
He leaned forward. “Honestly, me, too, these days. I’m only taking a couple of gigs a month.” He took another sip of his drink, and I noticed the flick of silver from his tongue stud. “More time for quiet bars, cute guys, warm company,” he said, and unlike me, he made innuendo drip from the words.
Cute? I decided not to argue and pushed my foot back against Jet’s, like he had done to me.
This gorgeous man had decided to flirt with me, and now I was curious what he could do with that tongue stud.
“What are you looking for tonight, Peyton? Because honestly, I’ve got an hour before I should be at the club, and I’m hoping to have a little fun.”
For a brief second, my voice caught in my throat. That really was the question. Then I finally managed, “I’m up for a little fun.”
