“Too bad.”
Again, his eyes roamed her body. Only now when he did it, it didn’t feel like silk. It felt more like a snake, a snake that could not only slither up and down but could enter her. If it wanted. Now that hot wind had become heavy, wet, and muggy.
“Why do women do that?” he asked.
“Do … what … ?” she ventured.
“You know.”
She hesitated.
A kind of madman grin slithered up his cheek. “Why do women go commando?”
She felt air go in and out of her lungs. Okay, so she was still breathing.
“I—don’t—know.”
“Yes, you do. You do it. So, you must know why you do it.”
She lowered her shoulders, confirming the fact that she could move and his eyes couldn’t hold her to this spot like a pair of hands.
“Do you know why you do everything you do?” she asked.
“That’s a slick move, answering my question with a question.”
“You mean a slick move like changing the subject? Which is what you just did.”
He laughed. “Yeah, like that.”
She held out her hand. “Your key card?”
He stared at her palm. “You have small hands.” He looked up. His eyes met hers. “You’re small too, almost tiny.” And then that snake slithered south. “Well, some of you.”
She could feel Thelma and Louise hit the gas.
“I mean, you’re not tall, and you have little hands and feet, and your waist is tiny, but other parts …” His eyes darted from her breasts to her hips. “Other parts. Aren’t. Tiny.”
She’d given up trying to squelch the inferno that was raging through her. A fire she feared made her cheeks look like two hot burners. Either that or like the cheeks of a scary clown.
“You’re doing it again,” she huffed.
“Am I? Guess I can’t help myself.”
He opened his arms, making it clear if she wanted that card, she was going to have to find it herself.
That night at Drink and Dive flashed before her.
She avoided his gaze as she reached into his jacket and dipped her fingers in his left pocket. Nothing. His breath rained down, smelling like warm caramel. She’d smelled bourbon on men before, but it had never smelled like this.
She slipped her hand into the right pocket and felt something stiff, plastic—a card. She was about to pull it out, but then her fingers touched a row of raised shapes.
He grinned. “Credit card.”
Just then her hand brushed against something that wasn’t rigid, paper—money.
“Do you want to make a wager? There’s a sizeable sum there.”
She quickly pulled her hand out and took a step back.
