My mouth goes dry, pulse racing at his statement. Based on the wide grin splitting his face, I’d say he knows exactly what that comment did to me. Swallowing thickly, I breathe out a laugh. “You wish.”
“Oh, come on,” he drawls before having another sip of his beer. “Don’t act like you don’t replay that night in your mind as much as I do.”
My head snaps to the side, taking in his side profile and the way his features are illuminated in the moonlight, wondering ifhe meant to admit that out loud.He thinks about that night?Of course, this isn’t the first time he’s brought it up, but the flippant way he admits to it being a frequent thought, paired with the raspy tone he says it in, takes me aback. It makes my stomach flip-flop and my breath catch in my throat.
The truth is, he’s one hundred percent right. Idothink about that night, way more than I’d care to admit. But like hell if I’m going to tell him that. Instead, I clear my throat, looking straight ahead again as I murmur, “Quite the opposite, actually. Sometimes I even forget it happened…until, of course,youremind me. It’s like a blur of a memory, if you will.” And because I feel like being a jerk, I add, “Guess you’re not as memorable as you think you are,baby.”
The alcohol really is getting to my head tonight. Making me braver than usual. Not that I’m complaining, especially when he chokes out a sound that’s a mix between a scoff and a laugh.
“Like I’d believe that,” he quips, jumping off the table and coming to stand in front of me, forcing my gaze to align with his. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Addams. Seen the memory in your eyes. They get all glazed over, like you’re remembering all the sordid details.”
My breath audibly hitches. Shooter smirks, a sultry sight that has no right being as hypnotizing as it is, as he takes a step toward me, putting himself just barely in between my knees. I try to swallow against the sandpaper in my throat while I will my heart to slow the heck down. It’s beating so fast, I’m positive he can hear it from where he’s standing.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” His words come out husky. They wrap around me, squeezing.
Looking away, I whisper, “You’re wrong.”
“Uh-uh…” Shooter hooks a finger under my chin, turning my face until our eyes meet. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think about the night we met constantly. Look me in theeye and tell me that night doesn’t affect you. Because if you’re going to lie to me, you’re sure as hell going to look me in the eye when you do it.”
My palms—now sweaty—are still planted on the bench behind me as he watches me like he has all the answers. Like he knows my every last thought. And shoot, he probably does. I’m well aware I’m about as transparent as they come. And still, I try my hardest to keep my feelings off my face as he looks down his nose at me. To hide the truth from him, even though I know it’s futile.
Thick, dark blonde brow arched, Shooter says, “I’m waiting, Addams.”
“I…” Blowing out a breath, I try to look away, but his grip on my chin has turned steel tight. “I… Jesus Christ, I can’t, okay?”
A dark smile plays around the corners of his mouth. “And why is that?”
“You know why,” I huff, nostrils flared.
Shooter’s thumb traces underneath my bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement. “Yeah, but I wanna hear you say it.”
“Are you that desperate for an ego boost?” I laugh, but it’s dry.
He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting my chin so I’m forced to look up at him. “I think you and I both know I’m not.” Then, he leans in, lips so close to my ear, the brush along the lobe, and rasps, “But I want to hear you tell me why. Mostly, I want to hear you explain which part of that night was the most memorable to you. The hottest.” I hiss when he drags nips at my ear, a full-body chill racking through me. “So, go ahead… tell me, baby.”
Pulling back just enough to meet my gaze again, he arches a brow, seemingly pleased with himself for how much my body reacts to the proximity of his against mine. I can feel how hot my cheeks are, and my breathing is coming out in harsh pants—such a contrast to his cool, calm, and collected appearance—and if hewere to glance down, he’d see just how hard I am for him, much to my annoyance.
“You’re such a prick,” I spit out instead of giving him what he wants.
Shrugging, he says, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You’re not as freaking irresistible as you think you are.”
He grins. “You don’t swear.”
My brows furrow at his complete redirection. “What?”
“I’ve noticed you don’t swear.”
“What does that have to do with anything? And yes, I do.”
“Okay, but notfuck. I haven’t heard you say that one.”
Where is this coming from? “So what if I don’t?”
“I wanna hear it. Wanna hear those pretty little lips utter that four-letter word for me.”
“What? No. This is weird.” I try to shove him away, but the fingers on my chin dip lower, gripping me around the throat. Not hard enough to cut off my air; just enough to keep me in place. “Get your hands off me!”
