I pushed my hip out to the side, forcing my shorts to ride up a bit more. “Hmm, I’m not so sure. It depends.”
“On what, sexy?”
There was no doubt in my mind that Charlie would be watching the whole show, updating Miller about exactly what was going on. But my efforts hadn’t brought him back into the building . . . yet.
If someone asked me why I did it—why I continued to bait Miller when I didn’t want anything to do with him—I probably wouldn’t be able to answer coherently because, truth be told, I wasn’t entirely sure myself. I could have just quit my job and found something else. Sure, the pay wouldn’t have matched up, but at least I’d have my pride. But it niggled at me; the way that Miller got to hurt me and then walk away. And part of me wanted to hurt him back. Playground stuff, maybe, but I couldn’t help the way I felt. I kept thinking to myself that if I could just see that he felt even one iota of the hurt I’d felt when he proposed that “arrangement” then that would be closure for me and I could move on. Only time would tell if that was the case.
Then again, maybe that was only part of it. Somewhere deep down, in a place I tried to bury it was part of the truth: that I wanted more than an arrangement from him. Miller intrigued me at every turn on our one night together, and as hard as I tried I wasn’t able to wipe him from my thoughts or dreams. If I really dug deep, I wanted the emotions, the feelings. A relationship, not an “arrangement.”
But since that wasn’t reality, I kept it buried and played games instead.
I laughed, an obvious deflection. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, a subject change. I’m going to keep working on you.” He winked.
The guys surrounding him placed their orders. Eventually Mr. Flirt told me what he wanted, but not before staring for a bit longer.
“I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
I turned toward the bar and saw Miller coming down the hall with Charlie.
I hadn’t seen him walk in. Then again, it didn’t matter. He made his choice, I made mine.
Ignoring the asshole I went straight to the bar to collect the order. In no time, I was heading back to the table with the guys’ drinks. Seemed like I would get two for the price of one: a big tip, and piss Miller off. It was a win-win.
“Here ya go, boys,” I said, passing the glasses and bottles out.
“Boys?” Mr. Flirt feigned offense. “I don’t see any boys around here. We can prove it to you, if you want?”
I leaned far over the table to hand out the last few drinks, the movement much more exaggerated than necessary, but enough that the guys had a clear view down my shirt. I let them have a look before I responded to Mr. Flirt.
“And how would you do that?”
Eyes burned a hole in the back of my head. In a perverse way, it gave me great pleasure to know how much the scene was likely pissing Miller off. Letting them look down my top, combined with outright flirting—he’d probably lose his shit. That was his own fault. Karma’s a bitch.
At least that was the mantra I tried to hold onto. Anger was easier emotion to fight with than the hurt.
“I’ll show you all of my nine inches,” he purred.
“Nine inches, really?”
The guy was just pushing the boundaries; boundaries that a few months ago would have earned him a new asshole. It was amazing how much one situation could change a person. In a few moments I’d walk away and forget about them for a bit and with any luck, by the time I got back to their table they’d be too drunk to pay any attention to me.
Then he crossed those boundaries. I felt his hand graze the back of my knee and slide up my thigh, right to the edge of the shorts that barely covered my ass. Guys had placed their hands on my arms to keep me from leaving, some even stuck their leg out to make like they were stretching, when really they wanted to rub against me. This, however, was the first time one had been brazen enough to almost grab my ass since that first week. It wouldn’t happen again, but for just this once, it would give Miller a taste of his own medicine.
“Let’s go out to my car and I’ll show you.”
I was just bending down to say something more when Mr. Flirt shouted and his hand moved away from my butt. I turned to see Miller, the guy’s arm locked in his hand like a vice grip. Miller yanked him up from his chair.
“Hands off,” Miller snarled.
“Fuck, what the hell is your problem?”
“She’s mine.” Miller tightened his grip, making the guy call out in pain once again.
“Yours?” I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling completely overexposed. “I don’t think so.”