His mouth twitches, and there’s a glint in his eyes like he’s already halfway to figuring me out. “You always hide behind sarcasm, or is it just me that gets the spiky version?”
I take a slow sip of my drink, my gaze flicking to his over the rim. “Nah,” I say, voice light. “I’m just saving the warm and fuzzy side for people who don’t make me want to throw their cowboy hats into an open flame.” I say with a smirk.
That gets him. His grin spreads, slow and sinful. “Well now,” he drawls, that voice like aged whiskey and late-night trouble. “Didn’t know I had that kind of effect on you, darlin’.”
I scoff and look away, pretending to check out the crowd.
But the truth is, I’m rattled. Not by the words. But by thewayhe says them—like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t give him permission to see.
He hastoomuch effect on me. That’s the problem…or maybe it’s the alcohol talking.
You’re had four sips, might want to try again Bonney.
I shift in my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his knee brushes against mine, the way his voice sinks beneath my skin like it’s got history there. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but my body’s already betraying me. Heart racing. Involuntarily squeezing my thighs together. Mouth a little too dry for someone who just took a drink.
I shoot him a sidelong glance, hoping he can’t read any of it on my face. “Careful,” I say, voice smooth but my fingers white-knuckling the glass. “You keep talking like that, I might start thinking youenjoygetting on my nerves.”
He leans in, and for one maddening second, his voice is just for me. “Who says I don’t?”
Damn him. Damn his voice. Damn this heat that’s pooling low in my stomach like it’s got plans and a playlist.
I laugh, sharper than it needs to be. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, “you’re still here.”
And I hate that he’s right.
Because Iamstill here.
Still sitting in this bar beside a man who makes me want to run and lean in and lick him all at once. A man who sees right through me with terrifying ease. And I can’t quite tell if I’m annoyed…or intrigued.
We sit in silence for a beat, just letting that hang between us. It’s not awkward—it’s intimate. Unexpected. A small flicker of connection sparking to life between us.
I clear my throat, shifting uncomfortably in my seat before pivoting the line of questioning.
“Well, can I ask you a serious question?” I brave a look at him as he straightens up in his chair with true concern showing on his face, as he nods patiently waiting for me to continue.
“Okay…here it goes….” Biting my lip, pinching my brows together, I take a deep breath before saying “would you rather have to moan every time you eat something good or say “harder, daddy” every time you stretch?”
A bark of laughter explodes out of him through the bar and I swear it can be heard two counties over. The vibration of his laugh sends ripples of pleasure through my entire body.
He continues to laugh and laugh, wiping tears from his eyes and eventually the shaking of his shoulders ease as he shakes his head and leans back, crossing his arms with one brow arched seriously considering his answer. “Darlin’,” he chuckles. “I’ll take the moaning. Loud, shameless, borderline obscene—I don’t give a damn. Better that than lettin’ the words ‘harder, daddy’ leave my mouth in another yoga class and risk Annie never lookin’ me in the eye again. Besides…” he smirks “...I make eating look good. Might as well sound good too.”
The effect of his words have me squirming in my seat and I instantly get the impression we’re not talking about food anymore.
A prickle of pleasure runs over my skin and a tightness forms in my core—low, insistent, and completely inappropriate for public consumption.
Taking a sip from my drink, I’m relieved to take every bit of courage this blue liquid has to offer me.
He gives me a sly side grin, then straightens like he’s about to deliver a military briefing. “Alright, brace yourself,” he says, voice deadpan. “Would you rather date someone who talks during sex…or cries after?”
I choke on my drink mid-sip, coughing like I’ve been ambushed by tequila vapors.
“Are those my only options? No mute, emotionally-stable unicorn in the mix?”
He just shrugs his large shoulders and arches a brow waiting for my reply.
I sigh dramatically. “Oh fine. I’ll take the talker. As long as he’s not giving a TED Talk on his fantasy football league or reciting his grocery list, I can work with that. At least I can shut him up with my mouth.”
