33. June #3
“Gonna hold you to that, Little Thief.” He dives in for another kiss.
It’s kind of funny. Watching them together.
The first time I laid eyes on Jagger Harden, I was convinced he was not only king of the school, but unyielding and stubborn and, well, a little bull-headed.
Seeing him with Violet? The way she has him so easily wrapped around her finger?
It’s…I don’t know. Adorable? He’d probably kill me if he knew that’s the word I would use to describe how he is in their relationship, but I can’t find a more fitting term off the top of my head.
He’s adorable. She’s adorable. They’re adorable.
And with the way he so openly claims her?
I almost feel…jealous. Scratch that. I one hundred percent feel jealous.
Considering my limited relations with the opposite sex, including my most recent encounter with a certain someone, the odds of a guy wrapping his arms around me and kissing me in public are infinitesimal at best.
Heat hits my back before my barstool twists until I’m forced to face said certain someone with whom my last sexual encounter involved. “I’m here, too, you know,” Ford announces.
My lips purse. “I can see that.”
“What can I get ya?” Jill interrupts.
Without taking his eyes off me, Ford murmurs, “I’ll have a…” He picks up my drink and knocks the rest of it back. “Another of these, please.”
Jill nods in my periphery and pours up a glass, setting it in front of Ford before pouring a second. It clinks on the counter in front of me. “I’m puttin’ both of these on your tab,” she announces, addressing Ford with the authority of judge, jury, and executioner.
My mouth curves up. “Thank you, Jill.”
“Anytime, darlin’.”
“Ah, yes. Jill the bartender.”
Ignoring him, I turn back toward the stage when Ford grips the edge of my seat again, twisting it until my sole focus can be on him and only him.
“I’m still here,” he reminds me.
“I can still see that,” I quip.
“Yet, you keep ignoring me.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” I start to turn toward the stage, but he grabs my chin, requiring my full attention.
“I like your top.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Don’t like that you’re wearing it without me, though.”
I raise my brow. “So, I’m allowed to wear it, but only if you’re with me?”
“You’re allowed to wear whatever you want whenever you want,” he clarifies. “But to rob me of the opportunity of partaking in this view?” He tisks, shamelessly checking me out. “That’s just mean.”
Gotta give the guy credit. He sure knows how to make a girl feel wanted. He’s also really good at making a girl feel unwanted and invisible. Like yesterday’s leftovers. The reminder leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“Pretty sure you deserve it,” I muse.
The heat from his eyes licks every inch of my exposed skin.
It reminds me of the last time we were together.
When it was only him and me in a dark room as his hands and mouth roamed nearly every inch of my body.
My mouth goes dry at the memory. Is he thinking about it?
Does he even care? Or was our interaction just… another Friday night to him?
“Pretty sure you’re right.” The words are low and throaty and shoot straight to my core. “I do deserve it.”
I tuck my hair behind my ear but stay quiet, trying not to melt from the heat in his gaze.
“So, do you come here often?” he asks.
“Never been until tonight.”
“What do you think?”
“It’s…” I look around at the strobe lights. The stage. The patrons. “Interesting,” I decide.
“Interesting, huh?” His hand skims the outside of my knee before he raises it and grasps his freshly poured drink.
Shifting in my seat, I murmur, “Do you come here often?”
“On occasion."
Talk about a non-answer.
“Do you like coming to places like this?” I push. I don’t know why. It’s none of my business. I guess I’m curious, though. Curious if this is his cup of tea. If the girls here are his cup of tea. If he’s been with any of them. And if he called them the next day.
“Do I like coming to places like this?” he repeats. “I don’t know. Depends on the day, I guess.”
My eyes thin.
Reading my expression, he clarifies, “Let’s just say I don’t love mixing business with pleasure.”
“And what does that mean?” I push. Ford was right. The alcohol is totally making me bold. “Is this the business portion or the pleasure portion?”
“Usually business.” He brushes the edge of his knee against mine, while still grasping his Jack and Coke on the bar, and I swear I feel it everywhere. “Tonight, though…”
“You don’t work here,” I point out, as if he needs the reminder.
He watches my lips wrap around my straw. “Neither do you.”
“For now,” Jill quips, not even bothering to hide the fact that she’s most definitely eavesdropping.
I jump at the sound. It’s like a bucket of water splashing over me and bringing me back to the present. I’m grateful for it. The reminder that, as much as Ford likes to make me feel like we’re the only two people on this planet, we’re very much in a room full of people.
Brows rising, Ford turns to me. “Ah, yes. I heard about your job offer. Tell me, how was the application process?” Pretty sure I’d shrivel up from embarrassment if I ever worked here.
Not because there’s anything wrong with the actual job, but because I’m not one for the limelight.
Imagining being on stage half-naked when I’m surrounded by bombshell women like Lexie or Electra who are also half-naked? I. Would. Die.
“You really think a girl this gorgeous needs to fill out an application?” Jill answers for me. “I’m sorry, are you blind?”
Ford scans me up and down again. The familiar heat penetrates my skin as he bites his bottom lip. “Definitely not blind.”
“Then there’s your answer,” Jill tosses back at him.
“Yeah, but can she dance?” Ford challenges. There’s a thick undertone of amusement. It isn’t laced with any animosity or derision. Just dry playfulness. Something I’ve come to recognize is often apparent in every conversation I’ve had with the man.
Jill tosses a towel over her shoulder and reaches for a clear liquor. “‘Course she can.”
Honestly, Jill’s confidence is so absolute, I almost believe it myself. Dance? Me? Sure, I can. Jill said so herself.
“‘Course you can?” Ford repeats. He scans me up and down a third time. Has he always been so focused on me, or do I blame the alcohol for noticing this time around? “Is that right, Bug?”
I nod. I don’t know why. I can’t dance for crap. But the look of surprise on Ford’s face when Jill even suggested I work here is enough to make me tell them I’m capable of flying. “Yeah, of course.”
His mouth lifts. “Care to prove it?”
Okay, this isn’t exactly how I expected this conversation to go.
Truth be told, over the last week, I’ve wondered if I’ll ever talk to him again.
Period. But considering Lexie’s suggestion about teasing earlier, and the alcohol swimming through my veins, I almost want to say yes.
To prove I’m a desirable person, dammit.
Even if he can’t see it. My lips purse as his hand finds my thigh.
It’s not high, mind you. The placement is just above the knee.
But oh, what I wouldn’t give for it to inch higher.
“I can get ya a room for twenty minutes,” Jill offers. “Ya know, if you’re interested in making a point.”
“Oh?”
We both say it. Ford and me. Though his is filled with intrigue and mine is nothing short of absolute terror.
I’m not sure who she’s talking to, and which point she’s hoping we’ll make.
Whether I can’t dance, or whether I can dance, or if she can feel the same electric charge pulsing between Ford and me and is ready to put us both out of our misery before we combust at her bar, and she’s left to clean up the mess.
It’s a mystery, though I’m not sure which option I’d prefer, either.
Jill’s attention shifts from me to Ford and back again. “Sure can,” she confirms.
Who exactly is Jill being a wingwoman for here?
I’m not sure when Violet and Jagger found our conversation more interesting than their own, but it’s clear they’re invested in the turn of events because I’m pretty sure I can feel both their stares as Jill slips out from behind the bar, not bothering to wait for my response. “Right this way.”
“Uh,” I start.
“There a problem, darlin’?”
Is there a problem? Well, let’s see. I’m way out of my element, a little buzzed, and trying not to squirm beneath Ford’s grip on my thigh, let alone the reminder of what it felt like the last time we were together. Now, someone wants to shove us into a room together so I can give him a dance?
How is this happening?