That’s why I need the booze. Because I’m a bundle of nerves about to either curl into a ball of anxiety or legit pull my boob from my dress and lay it on the table as an appetizer for the voraciously hungry man sitting next to me.
Boob for the taking. Preferably to be used as a sucking device.
DO YOU SEE WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT?
I’ve completely lost it.
“Did you get this dress for tonight?” His hand that’s resting on the back of my chair slowly drags over the hot pink fabric. When his finger toys with the zipper on the back, my intake of breath nearly startles me right off my stool.
“No,” I squeak. “I had it but have never worn it. I always thought it was too slutty for work even paired with a blazer, but thought it would be cute for a date. It was an impulse purchase. It was on sale, and I like the color, and I thought it would show off my short legs, which it does because it likes to ride up my thighs while I walk. It didn’t do that in the mirror, but I wasn’t walking either. I was just standing there checking myself out. So a very misleading dress if you ask me. But to answer your question, bringing this full circle, this scrap of fabric on my body was not purchased for tonight.”
He brushes my hair off my shoulder, his fingers dragging along my skin, burning me, branding me.
Is this his way of seduction?
Is that what’s happening?
I mean, he did say he wanted me to be his present tonight, so is that what’s happening? If so, it’s working.
My body is thrumming, urging me to ask for more.
“Well, I’m glad you saved it for tonight. It looks fucking hot on you.”
I chuckle because honestly, I don’t know how else to react. This scenario right now just feels so unreal. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m single and sitting next to Eli Hornsby while he flirts with me.
Never in my wildest thoughts would I have ever imagined this scenario to play out.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks, closing the space between us, causing my body to heat another degree.
“Because”—I clear my throat—“this all seems so ridiculous. I mean, what are we doing?”
“Flirting,” he says. “Spending some time together. Some innocent time together.”
“This is innocent?” I ask.
“Yes, if it wasn’t innocent, trust me, you would know.”
I wave my hand in front of my face. Thank God it’s dark in here because I could only imagine the color of my beet-red cheeks at this moment.
“Well, I don’t know what to say to that other than . . . I feel like it’s time I leave.” I down the rest of my drink, and as the liquid flows down my throat, I think about how I should have left half an hour ago, but for some odd reason, I stuck around.
Not sure why.
I set my empty glass on the table and stand from my stool only for Hornsby to stand as well, blocking me from my retreat.
“You seem to be in the way,” I say, looking up at him.
“Because I don’t want you to leave.”
“Well, that’s kind of you to want me to stay, but you see, I fear that if I stick around, I’ll do something really stupid like beg you to nibble on my ear again.”
A grin falls over his lips. “That’s not stupid. That’s actually a really good idea.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s a terrible idea. Really bad.” I reach up and pat his chest, his rock-hard muscles doing nothing to tamper my libido. “I should, wow, you are really muscular.”
He chuckles and then takes my hand in his and sits me back on my stool. “Stay. I promise I won’t flirt anymore. Just don’t leave me on my birthday. I’ve had enough birthdays alone growing up. Give me this one with some company.”
He’s spent birthdays alone? What does he mean by that? That’s so sad.
I realize at this moment that I don’t really know much about Hornsby other than the obvious—what’s put out in the world for fans. But behind those devilish eyes and sparkling grin, I don’t know where he grew up, anything about how he became the hockey star that he is, or pretty much any vital information that made him who he is today.
“Please . . . Penny?”
God, how could I possibly say no to that face?
I can’t.
It’s why I haven’t left yet, and it’s why I find myself asking him to order me another drink and some pretzel bites with cheese sauce.
After a quick trip to the bathroom—with a promise that I wouldn’t ditch him—I settle back on my stool, pleased to see food and new drinks on the table.