Page 34 of Under Her

Is she relieved that we didn’t kiss? Or does she wish we had?

And I’ve turned into a thirteen-year-old girl.

Even still, I nudge her knee with mine, forcing her to look at me.

She lifts those gorgeous eyes to mine. They’re expressionless. In complete contrast to how she was looking at me a few minutes ago.

I have an odd urge to see that desire in her eyes again.

“You okay?” I whisper to her.

She nods and then turns back to the table, opening one of the menus our waitress just brought.

Okay then. I’m guessing she’s relieved we didn’t kiss.

And if that doesn’t just piss me right off.

“So, Morgan,” my dad says, “Wilder tells us you’ve come up with a business idea.”

“Frank, let’s order our food before we talk business,” my mom says.

I chuckle and pick up my own menu, trying to decide on what I want to eat, but it’s hard to focus when I’m so distracted by Morgan sitting next to me. The scent of her perfume. The way she brushes her hair back with her hand as she leans forward to read the menu. Her finger running down the list of dishes. The way she nibbles her lip in thought.

I want to nibble that lip. No, I want to bite that lip.

I want to kiss that mouth and suck on her tongue and make her moan. And—

Stop.

I’m getting a hard-on, and I really don’t want an erection while I’m sitting with my parents.

We all decide on food and place our orders with our waitress, who indecently drops a small piece of paper into my lap as she passes me by.

I look up at her, and she smiles and winks at me.

Yeah, not happening.

When I turn back, I see Morgan staring at me with barely concealed disgust in her eyes. She immediately looks away. I glance at my mom and dad to see if they saw, but they’re too busy talking to realize that the waitress dropped me a note.

I want to tell Morgan that I have no intention of reading the note, which I’m guessing has her digits on it or a message like, Meet me in the restroom in five minutes.

This isn’t the first time a waitress has dropped me a note.

But I can’t say a damn thing to Morgan in front of my parents.

Even if I could say something, what would I say?

I’m not going to fuck the waitress because I want to fuck you.

Yeah, not likely.

But I don’t want her to think that I will call the waitress after we’re finished here. So, I pick the note up and tear it up into small pieces over the table.

“What’s that you’re tearing up?” my mom asks.

“Just a receipt,” I tell her. Then, I drop the small pieces of paper into the glass candleholder that has a tea light candle burning in it, letting the pieces of paper burn up.

“Wilder!” my mom chastises. “You’ll start a fire.” She starts wafting her hands over the candle.