Focus, asshole.
Right, focus.
But now she’s just sitting there, not making a move. Have we even been flirting? I know I haven’t. I’m just being…me. This is so different than my usual charm offensive. I feel like she’s the one with the puck, and I’m just waiting for her to do something with it.
Maybe I read this wrong. I’m lonely, and I’m sad about Amy, and this girl is really fucking gorgeous. I’m totally reading too much into this. She doesn’t want me. I sigh. “Let me get the check. I’ll see you to the elevator at least, make sure Chad McYachtclub doesn’t follow.”
As I reach for my wallet, she puts her hand on my arm. I go still. Like, I’m frozen solid. Just build me a marble plinth and ship me to a museum.
“I believe in signs,” she murmurs, her gaze lowering to focus on our shared point of connection.
Her touch is featherlight, but energy crackles between us with the heat of dry lightning. All I can focus on is the simple pattern of four stars on her thumb. What do they represent? And why is this touch more sensual than some of the sex I’ve had with the bunnies?
I can barely breathe. I swear, if this turns into a tease…if she winds me up just to laugh in my face and walk away…
“You believe in signs,” I repeat.
She nods. “Yeah, I do. And right now, all signs point to me taking you down to my room and fucking your brains out.”
Dead.
RIP Jake Compton, the best grinder the NHL ever had. He died doing what he loved most.
“I have a flight out first thing in the morning,” she goes on. “And I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She looks up at me through those dark lashes. “I think…maybe you don’t want to be alone either.”
“I don’t,” I choke out.
She smiles at me again. “Good. So maybe we should…”
“I’ll get the check,” I say, already pulling my wallet from my pocket.
She slips off her stool as I bend over the bar, waving my credit card at the bartender. I glance over my shoulder at her as soon as he walks off to cash us out.
Well, fuck me sideways.
Now that she’s standing, I want to drop to my knees. Her body is a fucking ten. No, she’s an eleven. A thirteen. She’s got curves in allll the right places, plus a little extra. She’s curvy in the hips, and I can tell she’s not wearing a bra in that outfit. Her perfect tits have some weight to them. They hang just a bit, heavy inside her strappy top. Her nipples are peaked with arousal.
My dick is twitching at the thought of flicking those straps loose and seeing her on full display. She’s got so much more than a mouthful to play with. I want to see her riding my dick. I want her straddling me, and I want those perfect tits bouncing as she cries out, her wet pussy strangling me. I want to fuck them. I want to slide my dick between them, and I want to blow on that little micro tattoo down her sternum.
Take a chill pill, you sex-crazed psychopath.
I let out a shaky breath, robotically signing the check as the bartender hands it to me.
She’s waiting for me as I turn, the energy like a live wire between us. Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. Maybe never. This girl is working some kind of magic on me.
She turns, ready to lead the way out.
I hardly know what I’m doing when I say, “Wait—”
She glances over her shoulder, the excitement dying in her eyes.
Oh shit, she thinks I’m pulling out!
I step forward, brushing my fingers down her arm. “I don’t even know your name.”
She looks at me for a moment, then shakes her head, her smile returning as she takes me by the hand and leads me towards the elevators. “No names. No jobs. No real life. Tonight, we’re just two people lost in a city not our own.” She glances over her shoulder, those brown eyes molten with need. “Come find me.”
I smile wide.
Mystery Girl, I intend to find you again…and again…and again.
3
My pulse is racing as I stand. This is crazy. Am I drunk? I do a quick sobriety test with my back turned while he pays the check. My vision is fine, I’m not wobbling, I can walk a straight line. If anything I’m on the sober side of buzzed. The tea and mozzarella sticks are working their magic.
Of all the ways to deal with my broken heart over the failed fellowship, falling in bed with this guy is definitely the least mature. But I’m lonely, and now I’m horny, and he’s saying yes. Besides, I was raised in a very sex positive environment. Rachel likes sex. A lot. I feel absolutely no shame in having a one-night stand. As long as he knows what this is, I’m saying yes too.
Plus, there’s just something about him. I wasn’t lying before, I’m a total zodiac girl, and I believe in signs. I also believe in energy. He’s a good person—kind and compassionate. He’s a giver.
I can feel his eyes on me, memorizing me. My skin pebbles. Why am I nervous? I turn around to face him and he stifles a needy groan. That sound goes straight to my pussy. His gaze sweeps over me before he turns away, handling the bill.
He’s tall, maybe 6’3”。 I’m like 5’5” in heels, so I barely come up to his shoulder. His muscles are tight under his grey t-shirt, and his jeans are doing the lord’s work. You could chip a tooth on that ass. I want to trail my nails over his skin, I want to see him shiver. I want—
He slaps the billfold closed and hands it off to the bartender, slipping his credit card back inside his wallet. I watch him tuck it away in his back pocket, wishing I could be that hand.
Girl, get yourself together.
I spin away, trying to take a breath. It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I’ve just been so busy with work and life. I’ve been on the road more in the last three months than I’ve been home. Maybe this timing is perfect. I don’t just want this; I need this. One door closed for me today, it’s time to open a new one.
“Wait—” he calls behind me.
My excitement sinks like a rock in my chest.
Oh god, he’s changed his mind. I came on too strong.
I glance over my shoulder, and I see his face flicker with five emotions at once—anticipation, confusion, need. Then he’s pressing in behind me. “I don’t even know your name,” he murmurs, that voice low and sweet as honey.
My breath catches. Right, names would be good.
Or maybe not…
Signs, remember? I have a feeling we’re meant to be two souls who find each other, but only for this moment. Then he’ll go his way, and I’ll go mine. I smile and shake my head, reaching for his hand. It’s so large in mine, but I like the fit. I like the way he wraps his fingers around mine, holding steady and firm.
“No names,” I say. “No jobs. No real life. Tonight, we’re just two people lost in a city not our own.” I glance over my shoulder, heart in my throat, as he hits me with that eager smile. He’s in. He wants to get lost as much as I do.
I give his hand a little squeeze. “Come find me.”
He steps in closer, fully committed to whatever comes next. I feel the warmth of his smile down to my toes. “Lead the way, Mystery Girl.”
I keep my fingers linked with his as I pull him along. We’re passing by the empty hostess stand when the brunch group comes strolling around the backside of a row of booths. Chad’s friends all snigger when they see us. Two of them wave at me. One is tipsy enough he needs his friend’s arm for support.