6. Inflatable Ego #2
Olivia’s grin explodes across her face, likely without her permission. She lets out the sweetest little giggle before slapping a palm across her mouth. “Oh fuck,” she whispers, twisting away.
It’s unfortunate that at that moment the bartender steps up, setting two pints down in front of her. Her face lights up as she reaches for her back pocket, but I slap down a bill and grab the beers, effectively wiping any trace of a smile off her beautiful face.
“Hey!” Olivia’s brows pinch together. “What are you doing? Those are for me and Cara.”
“And you can have them back when you give me the time of day.”
“I don’t need to give you anything and I certainly don’t need you to keep paying for my drinks.” Fists meet hips. Those whiskey eyes narrow dangerously. Olivia packs a surprisingly ferocious punch. “I have a job, you know.”
“Does your job pay thirteen million a year?”
“I’m not impressed by how much money you make.”
She truly looks like she couldn’t give less of a shit. She does, however, reach for the drinks, hopping up and down, rubbing against me as I hold them above her head.
“What is it that you do, anyway?” My shoulders stiffen at my question, because it’s not one I usually care to ask. Those are typically more along the lines of how hard, how fast, and top or bottom.
Olivia grumbles something I can’t quite make out, but God , asshole , and sexy are definitely part of it. Wish I caught the whole thing.
“Just forget it. I’ll get drinks back at the table.” She throws her hands in the air above her head like she’s done with me.
Thing is, though, I’m so far from being done with that woman. That’s why I’m only one step behind her as she stalks back to the booth.
“Did you call me a manwhore?” I ask as I slide in beside her, catching the tail end of her conversation with Cara.
“I would never call you something like that,” she insists, swiping her beer from my hand.
“Yeah.” Cara accepts her own drink with a smile. “She called you Mr . Manwhore.”
Olivia hides her guilty grin behind the rim of her glass. “It’s much more distinguished.”
I give her elbow a gentle pinch. “You’re a little shit, aren’t you?”
“ Me ? You literally never stop.”
“I’m like a puppy,” I tell her.
“Annoying, untrained, and requires a lot of work?”
I lean into her, dropping my voice. “I’m exceptionally cute and I thrive on attention.”
Another giggle, genuine, sweet, and light, making me smile.
“That’s two,” I point out.
“Two what?”
“Two laughs I’ve gotten out of you tonight.”
Her brows rise as she takes a sip. “Mmm. Are we keeping score?”
“We are. I’m aiming for ten.”
“Well, good luck, buddy. That’s the last one I’m giving you.”
“We’ll see,” I murmur, eyes on Emmett as he comes bounding over, eyes lit up when they spot Olivia.
“Ollie!” He scoops her up, yanking her right from the booth, and wraps her in a hug I kinda wish I was on the giving end of.
I wouldn’t mind seeing how she feels in my arms. He smacks a loud kiss to her cheek before stuffing her back in her seat, and she topples sideways, gripping my thigh as she catches herself.
Desire prickles my skin and rushes to my dick at the close proximity of her hand, and it takes everything in me to gently guide her upright with my hand on her lower back, rather than suggesting we go fuck out this tension that’s been vibrating between us for a week now.
“Ollie?” I muse, and watch the way Olivia blushes when Cara starts tapping off her nicknames on her fingers.
“Yeah, you know, Liv, Livvie, Ol, Ollie, Ollie Wallie. And of course, my personal favorite.” Her head rolls over her shoulders as she lets out a moan. “ Oh, Miss Parkerrr .”
Heat radiates off the petite woman beside me as she buries her face behind her hands.
I skim my bottom lip with my thumb as I watch her. “Are you a teacher, Miss Parker?”
She clears her throat, hands bracketing her face as she stares down at the table. “No?”
“High school,” Cara clarifies. “All those senior boys wanna get between her luscious thighs.”
“No students are ever getting between—ugh.” There go her hands again, raking up and down her face.
Christ, she’s exactly the type of teacher I would’ve died to have in high school. Gorgeous, with a perfect, full ass and a snarky, sarcastic personality.
“I agree, Ollie.” My hand covers her thigh, squeezing gently as her lips part on a jagged inhale, wide eyes peering at me as the magnetism instinctively draws us both closer.
“Besides the obvious, what you need is a man who knows how to take care of you.” My fingers walk up her thigh, and hers curl around my bicep, gripping it to stay upright.
“Someone who knows how to hit all the right… spots .”
A beat of silence stretches between us as I hold her gaze, the intrigue that dances in it, even if she doesn’t want to admit it does.
“Okay,” Emmett starts. Out of the corner of my eye, he waggles his finger between us. “What’s going on here?”
Olivia blinks, spell broken as she shakes her head and shifts back, taking her warmth with her.
“Nothing,” she insists at the same time I declare, “Ollie’s playing hard to get.”
Cara swipes a loaded nacho chip through a cup of sour cream and points it at me. “She’s not playing. She is hard to get.”
Olivia jabs my shoulder. “And don’t call me Ollie. We barely know each other.”
“Right. Okay.” I slide out of the booth and tug on the tie around my neck, pulling it loose and stuffing it in the pocket of my coat that hangs off the booth.
Olivia watches the whole thing with pinched brows, like she wants to know what I’m doing and where I’m going, and I’d love to see the look on her face as I turn my back and walk away.
“You taking requests tonight?” I ask the DJ in the corner of the bar. “I’ve got some work to do.”
He laughs, and when I’m done making my request, I head back to the booth.
Olivia watches as I pop a few buttons free around my neck and shift my sleeves up to my elbows. I hold my hand out to her.
“Well, let’s go.”
“Pardon?”
I gesture behind me with the flick of my head, beckoning her with the curl of my fingers. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Her cheeks pool with angry heat. “I’ve already told you I’m not going home with you. You are unbelievable.”
My palms hit the table with a groan, sliding slowly across the wood, head dipping so our eyes are level. “Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear. We barely know each other, as you’ve said, so we’re going to start.” Another curl of my fingers. “Dance with me.”
“But I…I…” Her head swivels as she looks to her friend for help. Cara shrugs. “I don’t dance,” Olivia blurts.
“Patently untrue. I watched you dance all night long last weekend. Trust me.” I rub my tired eyes with my hand, half burying my next words. “Couldn’t take my goddamn eyes off you.”
“She prefers to be halfway in the bag before she starts wiggling that ass of hers, Carter,” Cara chimes, chomping another nacho chip. “She’s only on her second beer tonight.”
“Okay, so you don’t dance.” I wind her hanging plaid sleeve around my fist, giving it a gentle tug. C’mon, Liv . I flick a heated gaze to hers, an invitation. “Do you turn down challenges, as well?”
There it is, the bite of her teeth into the pink flesh of her bottom lip, that quirk in the corner of her mouth that gives way to a slow explosion, the grin that ignites her entire face.
She slips her tiny hand in mine, and I know.
I’ve got her.