I press my lips tighter and stare at the pizza in front of me, hoping she’ll go away. She doesn’t.
“Ke-en-ne-e-eth,” she singsongs and digs her nails into my shoulder, thinking it might force me to respond. It doesn’t makemerespond. “Ken!” she barks, and I bark back.
“Nothing!”
“For real,” she bends, bringing her face closer to mine, “if I’m going to stay at your place, you could give me a warning about needing to call pest control before I climb into your bed.” I glare at her, and she rights herself instantly with a huff, “One of your beds.”
I sigh loudly, covering my face with my hands. “It’s aphmhnng.” It comes out as gibberish.
“What?” She leans in even closer, clearly irritated with my incoherent answer.
I drop my hands from my face. “I got a piercing!” I nearly yell.
“Where?” she asks, dumbfounded, without moving away.
“There.” I point at my cock, which is currently shriveling from the unfair accusation.
Her attention shifts from my face to my lap right before her eyes go wide. Very wide.
“Oh!” She tilts her head while staring at my sweats as if trying to see through the material.
“Josie,” I bark, drawing her attention.
“What kind?” she asks, licking her lips and leaning a hair closer to my lap.
Why is she licking her lips? Oh, fuck, no.Don’t do that now. I don’t even know who I’m begging now.
“What kind of what?” I don’t even know what she’s asking at this point.
Her eyes slowly move to my face. “What kind of piercing do you have?”
I narrow my eyes, grab the edge of the table, and pull myself closer, hiding my lap under the surface as I move a little farther away from her. She drops her hand and blinks rapidly, straightening her back. Her cheeks turn red. Like totally beet red. Then she rushes to her chair, stumbling on the way. I guess we’re both affected by the circumstances, and I’m not the only one who lost control. Which means I have to stay strong and resist the urge to throw her on the table and punish her for flashing that perfect pussy of hers that started the suffering in the first place. Because I know she’s curious. Very curious.
Once she’s back in her chair, she picks up the piece of pizza again and starts slowly chewing it. We sit in silence for a few minutes as she avoids my eyes, and I start to miss her snarky remarks and naughty humor, but I don’t know how to break the ice I’ve just created.
She does it for me.
“I miss my shoes.”
And then she says that.
I finish chewing, wipe my mouth, and ask, “Shoes?”
“Yeah,” she sighs, “the ones that are left in the mud.”
“I can grab them when I tow your car tomorrow.”
She hesitates for a second before saying, “Nah. They’re ruined anyway. Don’t bother. It’s part of my old life.”
We sit in silence until she calls me out. “You can put that fork and knife down.” She points with her slice of pizza. “Stop torturing yourself. You proved your point.”
“My point?” I play dumb.
She glares, making me chuckle, and I finally ditch the utensils and pick up the pizza with my hands. Taking a first big bite, I lean back in my chair with a moan.
“Look at you, Sheriff Benson. There might be hope for you after all.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I deadpan.
