19. Teasing Him
Teasing Him
Sheridan
Who am I, and where did I come up with the nerve to say that to Fly? The idea of being held safe in a man’s arms—in his arms for an entire night—tempts me more than a diamond necklace ever would.
Not that it’s ever going to happen with Fly. Though I might let him take me out on his motorcycle.
Does he have one of those crazy ones that weird men have built to show off? Nah, Fly probably rides something smooth and sexy. It doesn’t growl. It purrs in his hands.
Who am I today?
A flirt. And I’m loving it!
Bram sinks ball after ball. Between each shot, his eyes go to Savie.
But what’s interesting is the way hers are following him. Savie is more than a little into this guy. I mean, who can blame her? Bram has it going on with those curls that flop over his eyes, that muscular body that he hides behind old-fashioned clothes just like Savie, and that accent.
To be fair, most of us have a thing for a man with an accent, not that I can quite place Fly’s.
“So I have to win and then lose fair and square.”
Do I want to kiss him? Absolutely. Do I want him to win? That I’m not so sure about, not when my friend desperately wants her guy to win.
Bram is giving it a good go.
“You don’t think it’s possible that I could win?”
Fly stops flirting and really looks at me. “Impossible, no. Improbable, yes.”
Not knowing my life, that’s reasonable. “You’re that good?”
“Yeah, I am.”
And you don’t lack confidence. “Good to know.”
Fly leans down and whispers in my ear, “How good are you?”
A shiver runs through my body.
“Your turn.” Bram walks over to Savie.
She smiles up at him like he lights up her world.
The two start talking, and I wander away to give them privacy…well, as much as they can get in a room full of people.
But that gives me an opportunity to really watch Fly play pool. He’s methodical in his placement and choices of which shot to take. It’s like he’s playing several moves ahead. A game of chess with him would be interesting.
Not that I enjoy chess. It was more of my brother’s game of choice, but I had to get decent at it, or he’d thoroughly trounce me every time.
Fly looks up from an impressively difficult banked shot and winks at me. He’s showing off, and I can’t say I don’t appreciate it.
The subtle spin he adds to the cue ball impresses me even more. Fly didn’t exaggerate his skills.
When he’s down to the eight ball, I glance over at Savie. The frown on her face seals the deal for me. Fly needs to lose. How? You just asked him to win and lose for you. He’s not going to throw a game.
This man is focused. What if I distract him a little? Is that even possible?
I’m no femme fatale.
Awkward friends are better than a femme fatale, right?
Fly’s leaning over to line up the shot, and Savie has tears in her eyes. Here goes my best take on distracting a man with my feminine wiles. A woman in one of my books could make a man do anything she wanted…Yeah, but then she’d kill him, and that’s not really the style you’re going for.
Just do it before you lose your chance. I walk over to where he is, lean over, letting my side brush as much of his as possible—don’t think about the fireworks that are electrifying your body. Setting my hand on top of his larger one on the cue stick took a lot of nerve.
That’s me, one brave, bold woman.
What we do so that our friends can kiss a hot biker with a sexy British accent.
Fly looks up at me with a mixture of what can only be a sexy grin and complete confusion.
Which is fair, but I don’t have time to worry about it. I whisper, “Scratch,” in his ear as I slide the tip of my finger up his hand and across his arm before stepping away.
Wow, that was cringy. I seriously need to work on my sexy flirting skills. Or just give up trying to be something I’m not.
The question is, did it work?
Fly’s eyes lock on me as he takes his shot. The level of passion in them takes my breath away. The cue ball goes spiraling past the eight ball straight into the pocket.
He scratched.
He actually lost the game.
Was it because I asked? Or was I sexier than I thought?
Probably the former.
“You won!” Savie jumps up and hugs Bram.
I definitely made the right choice.
Except Fly doesn’t look happy as he sets his cue stick down on the table and slowly stalks over to me.
Uh-oh. Does he hate losing that much?
This seemed like a friendly game. But that’s definitely not a friendly look he’s giving me.
Like the mature coward I am, I back up until my butt hits the wall.
Fly stops right in front of me, close enough that we could sync our breathing. One hand goes onto the wall next to me as he leans in. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I don’t need you to win a game in order to kiss you—” That sounded so brazen for a woman who has barely kissed one man.
“What?”
“You heard me. Even though I would have enjoyed winning that forfeit, I knew my friend wanted Bram to win more.” I don’t know what gets into me, but I place a hand on Fly’s chest.
“That’s all it was?”
I nod.
“Do you want to get out of here and talk somewhere privately?”
“As long as talking involves kissing you, I’m in.” Wow, have I become completely brazen. Grammie would hate it. I kind of love it.
He takes my hand in his and leads me out of the clubhouse and to a massive SUV. It’s only slightly disappointing that it wasn’t a motorcycle, but considering the chill in the air and the light dress I’m wearing under this coat, an enclosed vehicle was the right choice.
Vehicles usually aren’t a thing for me. As long as they get you from point A to point B without losing their mind, I don’t care what I drive.
Fly cares about what he drives, and he has money.
Or a lot of debt.
To afford a car like this, most people would have to sell their soul or mortgage it to the hilt. Is Fly the type to live life on the knife’s-edge, owing everyone money to have a flashy car?
I shift my body to watch him as he climbs in. Nothing about him makes sense.
The man just helped me up into the car like a gentleman. He lost a game without a word of complaint. He kisses like it’s his calling.
But he’s a biker.
Aren’t they supposed to be loud, crass, rude, mostly drunken men who enjoy bar fights and tattoos?
“You’re staring at me.” He grins.
“Yes, I am.” But that doesn’t last long as the world goes dark.
“I like that about you.”
“What?”
“That you say what you think. No games. Well, not too many games.”
“Life is too short to say something you don’t mean.
” The road to the clubhouse is vastly different at night.
What was once a cute forest-lined road turned into endless darkness, only broken by bright headlights, which seem to barely illuminate the path in front of us.
“Most women would be second-guessing their decision to go with you right about now.”
Fly chuckles. “My house is only a few minutes away from the clubhouse, but we can turn around if you want.”
“Nah. I want to get to know more about you.” And the quickest way to do that is by finding out what he listens to. The digital display makes it easy to find one of his playlists.
The music that starts pouring out of the sound system would shock me for any other man. “Classical. That’s an interesting choice. Not what I would have picked for you.”
“Oh, really? What were you expecting to hear?”
“Classic rock or maybe some R&B, but you just felt like a classic rock kind of guy. Though I might have asked you to take me back if I heard rap or death metal.”
“You take your music seriously.”
“Not really.” But it seems like I take the men who I kiss very seriously, even when I know none of this is going to be serious. “I think I’m taking us too seriously.” And there I go blurting stupidness out.
“I don’t.”
What did he just say?
In that moment, the scenery subtly changes. What was only darkness and trees suddenly turns into a bright light as a garage door opens.
A very large garage door.
What’s inside makes me turn to the man next to me, questioning who he really is.
Because the European sports car and the off-roading vehicle that’s in pristine condition both make sense.
But what doesn’t is the beat-up pickup truck, the white mid-sized sedan that has to be at least ten years old, and the minivan that has more dents than my car…
and that’s an impressive feat since my car is like thirty years old and been owned by half a dozen people before me.
This man makes no sense.
I should just focus on the half-dozen custom-looking bikes that fit the man who I thought he was, but something tells me it could be fun getting to know the real man.
Fly walks around the SUV and holds a hand out to help me down.
Chivalry isn’t dead.
“What music do you listen to?”
Oh, that’s a loaded question. “Depends. I’m a mood listener. So you’ll find a little bit of everything on my playlists.”
Fly’s reality changes as he opens the door to the house. It was just a plain-looking white door that led into something that’s quite the opposite of plain.
Wow. Did we move across the country in the blink of an eye? Wood, glass, cement, and steel are all blended into one modern space…with the emphasis on glass. It’s like you're standing outside, but completely inside a fish tank, there’s so much glass.
This house wouldn’t work anywhere else but in the middle of nowhere in the woods.
But the part that strikes me even harder is the fact that there aren’t things…Why doesn’t this man have stuff? I mean, everywhere I look is tastefully decorated with just the perfect ‘thing’ to add to the modern simplicity of the space. None of it makes this place feel lived in…like a home.
Why does there have to be a lived-in feel in order for his house to be a home? Fly could simply be a man who lives a minimalistic life that’s clean, orderly, and sterile.
A sterile, boring man doesn’t join a biker gang. He doesn’t own a sports car and an old minivan. He certainly doesn’t kiss like a Casanova while flirting like a spy in a movie.
I could wander around the space, touching all the things and looking to find the man beside me in them. Instead, I take a seat on the oversized couch that faces the stone fireplace and a wall of windows.
As Fly settles in next to me, the lights dim until there’s just the soft glow of flickering flames and the natural light from the moon and stars.
This is why he bought this space. It’s why anyone would live in the woods. “Beautiful.”
“Yes, you are.” He brushes back a lock of my hair.
“This is the part where we kiss.”
“It could be.” His hand stops on my shoulder, idly twirling the loose strand around his finger and brushing across the nape of my neck.
Kissing him in the firelight sounds almost like a dream little girls have of the perfect kiss. All it’s missing are a few candles and some soft music. But those cars are messing with my head. I need to understand more about the man in front of me.
“But you aren’t ready to kiss me?” The strand slips from his finger.
That shouldn’t be true, but it is.
“Why?”
“Because after the girl kisses the frog, what happens?”
He stares at me for a long moment, processing words that make no sense even to me.
“Tell me something about you. Something real.” Because right now my reality feels so unreal.
That was too much to ask. Fly brought me here to his wild mansion to make out, not to have an in-depth discussion about what forms his perspectives on life.
Why did I ask?
“Do you want to see a magic trick?”
That’s the weirdest response. “Sure.”
The fingers that were twirling my hair reach up and gently caress my ear. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a quarter in your ear?”
That is the oldest trick in the book. “No. I don’t believe they have.”
“Well, they’d be wrong, because I found this one right there.” A quarter smoothly appears between his fingers.
What does that mean?
“Now you tell me something about you.”
That trick felt weirdly wild, but it didn’t feel like he was mocking me. “I can’t tie a cherry stem with my tongue.”
Fly blinks, smirks, and then his grin gets downright naughty.
Those lips of his are begging to be kissed…or maybe those are mine doing the begging. Either way, do I really need to wait to understand the nuances of this man to kiss him again?
We can talk later…much later.