Chapter 12 #3
“Dad was upset about that one and didn’t let me into locker rooms for a long time after that. Though I did occasionally sneak in.”
“Nothing ruffles you, does it? Not even when you were a kid,” I say. “If you were a guy, I’d want you on my team.”
“What a thing to say to your date,” Cat says, looking as if I’d insulted Chloe.
I’m satisfied that Chloe takes no such umbrage at my comment.
In fact, she looks pleased, if the beaming smile is any clue.
Our eyes meet and stick, our smiles matching, and then I feel it, that tug, that spark as our stare goes from mutual admiration to another level.
The unmistakable shine of flirtation takes over her eyes and I can feel the mirroring shift in my own stare.
More importantly, I feel the shift in my pants as my dick takes notice.
It’s worse than before because we’re not playing games.
The air in the room seems to change from cool to hot, as if some sick Cupid flicked a switch—or hit me with an arrow in a cruel joke saying not so fast, buddy, she’s not one of the guys, she’s your sexiest nightmare waiting for you to show her how manly you are.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Cat stands and claps her hands. “Tate brought us some chocolate-covered strawberries and I made tiramisu.”
Chloe darts an accusing look at me and I smirk. She brought nothing with her and I enjoy the pale pink blush rising to her cheeks. Amazing to see in a woman who can swear like a teenage boy with something to prove.
“How romantic, Tate.” Mia said. That diverts my attention from Chloe’s tantalizing warmth and the sensuality I feel oozing from her as I turn to her.
Mia is teasing me. Chloe must sense that too as she rips my attention back by planting her hot palm on my thigh under the table and squeezing.
I don’t flinch but my cock does and my smile falters.
“Not bad for a defensive player.”
Chloe reaches out and takes one of the chocolate-covered strawberries as soon as Cat places them on the table, as if staking her claim.
She gives me a challenging look as she puts the chocolate tip to her lips and licks.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was competing with Mia and out to win.
But then maybe that does suit Chloe. She is a competitor by nature and wants to be the best, at the top.
Maybe on top too . . . Fuck. Her tongue circles the strawberry, smearing the chocolate, and my cock screams for her attention, for the attention of her tongue and that mouth.
Then she bites off the tip and I close my eyes, not wanting to see any more. The others are too busy trying out their desserts to be paying attention to our byplay, so I lean in, my eyes on her unblinking violet ones.
“I want to make you pay for that.”
“Promises—”
I cover the hand she still has on my thigh with mine and move it up to my cock.
Her stare sizzles, pupils darkening, but if I thought I was going to shock this too-cool reporter who has seen everything, I’d have been wrong.
Maybe I’m not trying to shock her or put her off.
Maybe I really want to excite her, seduce her.
Because I sure as fuck am exciting myself.
And she sure as fuck looks excited. Exciting.
Needing to calm down because we’re at a fucking dinner table with a group of people—my friends—and I have no wish to put on an exhibition of my excitement level because I still need to stand up before I—we can leave. I take her hand off me and pull it on top of the table, still holding it.
When did I decide I was leaving with Chloe?
Aside from the fact that it had been my plan all along to leave with my blind date if she was willing, to bring her home and spend the night fucking our brains out, or making love, depending on how I felt about her, that was before I knew said blind date was fucking Smitty.
It would be a dangerous thing to leave with Chloe Smith, the ultimate sports media maniac.
Leaning close to my ear, she whispers, “Let’s get the fuck out of here as soon as we can—as soon as you can stand up, though I hate to see the hard-on go.”
Letting out a long breath, I turn away from her and clear my throat, try not to laugh.
“This was a great dinner, Cat,” I say. “You really impressed me.”
“How about my matchmaking? Are you impressed with that too?”
I laugh along with everyone else. Everyone but Chloe.
“Frankly, Cat. I think your matchmaking is a home run,” she says. That stops everyone’s laughter. Shit. Everything in me tenses up, including and especially my cock, but I keep my smile in place. What the fuck, Chloe?
“Is that right?” Cat prompts, and I want to drag Chloe from the table now and get her out of here before another outrageous word comes from her mouth. But I don’t because I haven’t lost my mind completely, although it’s more than halfway gone.
“Yes.” Chloe turns to me. “Except for the fact that we’re mortal enemies, Fontanna and I are a perfect match.
” She smiles and winks, lifting our joined hands in the air.
I think everyone gets the picture. They all know we want to fuck around even though we hate each other—not exactly, but it’s a good shorthand for whatever this antagonism is we have going on.
“On that note.” I stand, pulling her with me. She aims her sizzling eyes at me and doesn’t hold back, throwing her napkin on her plate.
Gabe claps his hands and Sean and Hunter join in, then the women, and Cat takes a bow.
“Whatever,” Cat says, “I’ll take it.”
Sean grins and is about to say something and I know it’s about the bet so I say to him, “Shut up, Sean. Don’t say another word.”
He cracks up and Chloe looks suspicious but I lead her from the dining room through the kitchen and out the back door, not stopping to say goodbye as they all shout their good-nights and good-lucks and wolf whistles and who the fuck knows what other bawdy comments they’re bellowing in between laughs and snickers.
I take her to my car, holding on to her hand in an iron grip as if I’m afraid she’s going to escape.
I don’t know what I’m worried about. Except everything because she’s a fucking reporter.
But that doesn’t explain my nerves, my need, my irrational desire to get between her legs and eat her out until I own her and she cries my name and swears undying loyalty forever.
Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk the whiskey, because I’m out of my mind and I hope to God it’s the whiskey and not her.
“Where’s your car?” I belatedly realize that if I drive her home she’ll have to leave her car here, but I don’t trust her to go in separate cars. She might take me anywhere if I follow her.
“I took an Uber here.” She smiles and leans against me as we stand at the passenger door.
I wrap my arms around her because it’s inevitable, and press her into my flaming erection.
She wriggles, positioning her hips just so, making us fit together in a way that makes me want to stand there like that with her all night long.
Except I want more, so much more from her, want to give her the wildest orgasm, multiple times so that she never wants another man ever again. What the fuck am I thinking?
“I was hoping to get lucky tonight,” she says, grinding against me. “What do you think my chances are?”
“Oh, you’ll get lucky. More than once. You might even lose count.” I turn her around and open the door, let her go so she can slide into my car. I want to be inside her so fucking much.
But as I go around and get in, I promise myself not to let that happen.
I need to draw the line. I can’t sell myself so cheaply.
If we’re going to explore our chemistry, then I need to do it on my terms and she has to break down first, she has to lose control, get all kinds of vulnerable and at my mercy until she wouldn’t dream of ever betraying me.
I need to own her, or at least own her pussy, before I bury myself in her and get lost.
She’s strangely silent on the ride to her house as she clutches my thigh, not moving except for the vibration of excitement I can feel in her hand.
Her address is in my car’s navigator, but I have it memorized and I know the way there.
Everything about her is emblazoned in my memory in neon lights, with bold underlining and super emojis of skulls and crossbones and pulsating lips.
Pulling into her driveway behind the car with Georgia plates I assume is hers, I shut the engine and pop my door open without even looking at her. I don’t even want to take an extra second, no pausing for thinking about what I’m doing, not that my cock brain would let me back out now.
Of course she jumps from the car before I have a chance to open her door, but I make up for it by taking her hand.
“You in a hurry, Fontanna?” There’s a slight tremor in her cocksure voice that could be fear, but most likely it’s excitement.
“You have a problem with that, Smitty?” She laughs and it sends a nerve-jangling shot straight to my dick, tensing me more than I already am. Taking the keys from her hand, I put my super dexterity and quickness to good use and open the door before she takes her next breath on a big inhale.
“Show me the way,” I say. She doesn’t let go of my hand as she quicksteps up the narrow stairs and I follow behind, her sweet ass in my face so I can barely refrain from sinking my teeth in to test it.
Instead, I put a hand on her, caressing her bottom and around to her hip until we get to her apartment door two floors up.
She pulls out a second set of keys and opens it before I have a chance, faster than I could.
A blip of admiration automatically registers as if she were a teammate whose quickness I value.