Page 50 of Serving Bunt

Did I detect a hint of jealousy? Not the ugly kind, but the sharp, needy kind that made my stomach flip and my dick harden.

I liked it. More than I should have.

I let the silence stretch just long enough for him to squirm. “It wouldn’t matter if he was my type because I’m definitely not his.”

“What’s his type?”

“Vagina.”

“You did not just say that.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “I just call it like it is. Actually, the two of you have a lot more in common.”

He pursed his lips. “As much as I appreciate the female form, I’ve never actually sipped from the lady fountain.”

“That’s not— I’m talking about Captain America.”

His eyes were sparkling now, the jealousy morphing into that bright, playful smirk he wore like a second skin.

“Mi amor?”

“Apparently, James has one hell of a comic book collection. He and Colt got into it about the best issues of Captain America.”

“#110, the first appearance of Madame Hydra. Obviously.”

“Damn,” I said, fighting a grin of my own. “Just when I thought you couldn’t out-nerd yourself.”

“You’ll understand better after a proper Evans-ducation.”

He twirled away from me, humming one of the upbeat, Latin pop songs we had danced to at the bar. He swayed his hips in exaggerated circles.

“Come on, Alabama. You’re killing my buzz.”

I toed off my shoes and set them neatly by the door. “And you’re going to wake up the whole place.”

Diaz just laughed and kept moving, like the music was still playing in his blood. I caught myself staring at the way his shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat, the fabric translucent in places.

My mouth went dry.

If anybody made sweat look good, it was Peter Diaz.

The guy could sell his by the bottle and make a fortune. Twelve ounces of liquid, salty goodness all for the low, low price of needs to be mine.

Plus, it would pair so well with his candle.

Holy hell, I was one step away from a glorified shrine to the man.

The tiny ball of brown and black fur curled up on my pillow pulled my focus. Mo was fast asleep, snoring like a chainsaw. She hadn’t so much as lifted her head.

“Twirl me,” Diaz demanded.

“Twirl yourself. I’ll just—”

“I don’t think so. You know, your moves weren’t half bad out there. A little stiff, but we can work with that.”

I snorted, crossing my arms. “Oh, we can, can we?”

“Starting now.” He held out his hand, palm up, eyes sparkling with challenge. “¡Dale! One dance. I’ll teach you.”