Chapter 9 #2
I stare at my drink. “I know.”
“Do you?”
The question lands harder than it should. “I’m very goal oriented.”
“I noticed.” His hand snakes over mine on the bar top, his thumb tracing my knuckles. “But you’re allowed to want more than checking boxes. You’re allowed to want someone who actually sees you.”
My throat tightens. “That’s very Hallmark of you.”
“I’m serious.” His fingers tighten around mine. “You deserve better than some asshole who tries to make it your fault that he cheated.”
I lift my glass again. “What is in these drinks?” Maybe I should hire a therapist because I can’t keep my mouth shut.
“You shouldn’t settle.”
“I’m tipsy.”
“Pa always said the truth comes out after a drink or two.”
“You close with your parents?” I ask, desperately trying to change the subject.
“Yep. They’ve been married forty years.” He tilts his head. “Yours gonna miss you at Christmas?”
“Nope. Divorced. Haven’t had a normal holiday since 2005.” I slump. “This conversation is depressing me.”
“Good thing I bought you a drink. Let me put your tattoo on.” He digs in my coat pocket, which is draped on the barstool, then pulls out the little globe containing the press-on butterfly tattoo. It looks ridiculous in his big hand, like a toy he pilfered from the girls.
“Fine,” I resolve, but only because it’s better than talking about my parents’ failed marriage or cheating ex.
I hold out my arm, and he wraps my wrist in his large, calloused grip. Mine is barely a fraction of his, and the contrast makes my pulse spike. Shadows play across his deep green eyes, coiled and teasing, like a predator who can’t decide if it wants to strike or simply watch.
With his free hand, he lifts an ice cube from my mule and presses it against my skin.
I don’t look down. I can’t. My body leans forward like a moth drawn to a flame, heartbeat hammering in my throat and core all at once.
He circles the ice, cold water trailing down my arm, and I’m painfully aware of the soft lace of my underwear and how absurdly glad I am I wore something cute tonight.
I jolt.
“Hold still,” he murmurs, grip tightening. He drops the cube into his drink, and my eyes land on his rough thumb as it wipes away condensation. He peels the tiny, delicate film off the tattoo and presses it onto my skin.
Breathe. It’s just a fake tattoo.
“Do you do this often?”
“Mm. Every time they pass the vending machine, the girls make me,” he says, pretending he’s oblivious to the fact that I’m practically on fire over here. “Butterflies, unicorns, cats. You name it, I’ve done it.”
He’s not just hot. He’s hot and a good dad. Whereas I’m just tipsy.
After a long press, he peels the backing away. A butterfly gleams on my wrist, whimsical and sparkly, and my chest does this awful ache-laugh thing. I feel like I’m ten again, having a sleepover and laughing with my friends until Mom tells us to be quiet.
“Perfect.” He watches my lips part, then lifts my wrist to his mouth. His mustache grazes the soft inside where the butterfly sits.
I’m going to melt like an ice cube right into this polar bear stool. Somebody better mop me off the floor.
Jamie drapes his hand over my thigh, right where the fabric of my dress kisses my skin. “So,” he says casually, “explain the mechanics of a garter belt to me.”
The dress is working!
“They’re designed to make men like you ask questions.”
“Well, you look fucking incredible, Joy.”
“Not out of place?”
“I’d say you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” Jamie shrugs out of his jacket. A black tee stretches across his chest, his biceps flexing with veins. Lust slams through me, hot and reckless. Jamie’s grin tilts. “Shall we dance now that I’m with a badass tattooed chick?”
“Don’t ever call me that again,” I tease, but I’m already grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the dance floor because I’m way too drunk to resist anything right now. Everything is fuzzy and perfect.
The rock music is loud, the bass vibrating through my bones. I start moving to the beat, awkward and loose, but then his hands are on my hips. His eyes don’t leave mine as he leans down to whisper, “I love how you smell.”
I swear my knees buckle. I press my body against his, desperate for more friction, more anything, and suddenly the bar, the crowd, the lights—all of it fades. It’s just him.
I forgot what it’s like to just be…sexy.
“You having fun yet?”
I bite my lip. “Maybe.”
“Good.” His mouth grazes my neck. Barely. Just enough to make me shiver. His cock hardens against my ass through the denim of his jeans. I want him so badly.
“Because I’m not done with you yet.”
“No?” I spin around, then drunkenly loop my arm around his neck. “How do you make being this hot legal?”
“I think I look better with you on my arm.”
“Or your face,” I slur.
“Doc, I’m usually really good with patience, but you grinding against me is testing me.”
“You like it.”
Someone bumps into me, pushing me into Jamie’s chest, but I don’t mind. His hand settles on my lower back. “Oh, I like it. I like it a lot. But you’re gonna make me do something I shouldn’t in public if you keep this up.”
I take it as a dare and tilt my body against him, feeling his cock twitch again. My fingers hook into his belt loops, and he curls his hands around my wrists. “So impatient.”
He pivots me smoothly in his arms, keeping me trapped against him.
I don’t know how long we’re dancing, but Winnie, the menace, appears out of nowhere with shots.
And then the three of us are singing to some song I only half know, and through it all, Jamie’s hand never leaves my back, my thigh, or the inside of my arm.
Slow.
Slow.
I don’t want slow.
I break away, wild and laughing, and snag his hand, yanking him toward the back hallway.
“Joy, what are we doing?”
“I just need some air.”
Lie. A massive lie.
I barely feel the cold as we stumble outside. Snowflakes dust my hair and stick to my eyelashes. My sweaty skin instantly starts to crystallize.
“You’re gonna freeze in this excuse for a dress,” he says, hands already curving up my bare arms, raising goose bumps that have nothing to do with the temperature. “We both might without our jackets.”
“Then you better warm me up,” I challenge, pulling him away from the outdoor crowd and along the side of the house before curving my body to his.
He groans, but before he can answer, I shove him against the wall and kiss him.
Not like last time. This is hard, messy, desperate, with teeth and lips and want tangled together.
He moans into my mouth, low and ragged, and my chest presses against his like I might fuse into him.
His hands find my ass immediately. He snaps the strap of my garter belt as if he’s been thinking about it all night.
“Fuck,” he growls, voice like velvet.
There’s a hazy, dangerous unknowing between us that makes my pulse quiver. His pupils expand, and thinking becomes impossible. He cups my ass, lifting my dress inch by inch. Heat coils low in me.
Without warning, he lifts me, shifting my weight until my back meets the wall. Air hisses from my lungs, and I wrap my legs around him instinctively. I bite his lip, hard, while my hands trace the planes of his chest, along the edge of his jaw, down to the strap of his belt.
“I—” I hiccup, breathless, tipsy. Reckless. “I need you so bad.”
He chuckles. “You’ve been craving this all week, huh?”
“Don’t make me think in full sentences.” My hand drags lower, stroking the bulge in his jeans. “I…I can’t wait anymore.”
I feel him smirk against my earlobe. “How bad, Joy? Tell me.”
I feel alive. Blazing. Unstoppable.
“Please,” I whisper, voice trembling from the alcohol and desire. “So bad I can barely think straight.”
Jamie’s hand wanders around the outside of my thigh. “You think begging is going to help your case?”
“Maybe it will,” I moan. “Maybe I want you to make me beg.”
“You like being reckless, huh?” His fingers hover at the edge of my lace panties, maddeningly close to where I ache for him most. He sucks in a breath.
“Only when it’s worth it,” I admit, swaying against him, melting into his heat.
“You’re intoxicating.” His mouth hovers over mine, not quite kissing. “And I’ve been thinking about doing this since I first saw you.”
“Then why wait?” I snatch his cowboy hat and plop it on my head, grinning wickedly. “You’ve got your chance now.”
“We’re drunk, Joy.”
“I don’t care.” I kiss him harder, my teeth dragging across his bottom lip.
“Slow—”
“I don’t want slow, Jamie.” My hands fumble with his belt buckle.
He catches my wrists. Pins them gently above my head with one hand.
His restraint is brutal, beautiful. “No.” It’s like a bucket of cold water.
I want to scream. “We can’t.” His forehead presses against mine, breath ragged.
“I’m desperate to remember every second of this.
Every sound you make. Every way you come apart for me. ”
My chest heaves. “Then make me remember.”
“Trust me.” His free hand ghosts along my swollen lips.
“When I finally get you in my bed? I’m gonna take my time.
Learn every inch of you. Make you come so many times, you’ll forget your own name.
” His voice drops impossibly lower. “But our first time won’t be a drunk fuck against a wall while the whole town’s inside. ”
Heat floods through me despite the cold. Despite the frustration.
“Don’t think I won’t be thinking about how wet you are for me, though.” He releases my wrists, steadying me as my legs fall down. His hand lingers on my hip. “How you taste. How you’d sound saying my name when you—”
“Jamie.”
He grins. “Yeah. Just like that.”
He straightens his hat on my head. Then he steps back, putting crucial distance between us. “Come on, Doc.” He extends his hand. “Let’s get you some water before you do something you’ll regret.”
“I don’t regret anything.”
“I know.” His eyes are still dark with want. “That’s what scares me.”