And again.
And again.
My palms skim along her sides, and I trail kisses down her neck to her breasts. I suck one into my mouth through the cotton dress she wears. I tongue her beaded nipple until the wet fabric lets me outline every contour.
When I find the hem of her sundress, my hands glide up her legs. I take possession of her mouth again as I slide my fingers under her panties. I cup her ass, pulling her hard against my erection; it flexes in anticipation.
Her arms loop around my neck and she looks past me, seemingly avoiding eye contact. But she doesn’t fight me when I slip my fingers to the middle and run them along her seam. I dip low until they flit across the wet place at her center. She doesn’t try to escape; she just makes that sexy as hell sound again.
I drag her closer still and wiggle the finger hovering at her entrance as I swoop in for another long sip of sweetness, kissing her deeper—harder. Then, taking her jaw in my hand, I force her to look at me as I lick the taste of her off my lips.
“I don’t hate you, Mo. You just—shit…” I shake my head. Aw hell. Fuck it. “I want you—God, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any girl. And that pisses me the fuck off.”
TWO
Danny’s words trip through my brain like clumsy drunks. They bump into one another, making no sense. His hard-on pushes into my belly and his eyes pull me in.
Seconds tick by, and finally his words line up to make a sentence.
Holy crap.
Not good—not good at all.
Kissing him wasn’t very smart either.
I try to form words, but they cling to my lips, refusing to leave my mouth. I swallow and flatten my palms on his pecs. I manage to put the slightest pressure into my push.
Danny backs off. He hooks his thumbs into his belt loops, studying me with a critical eye as he shakes his head. He spins on his heel and storms out, leaving the door wide open and my jaw hanging loose.
After I put in a couple of hours volunteering at the women’s shelter, I spent half the afternoon cleaning out my closet, scrubbing every square inch of my bathroom, and polishing the appliances in my small kitchenette. I even used the telescoping duster thing and got the cobwebs in the corners and the outsides of the vents.
It didn’t matter though. No amount of bleach could wash Danny’s words out of my mind.
God, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any girl has played through my brain a thousand times, maybe more.
How can that be possible? He all but told me he doesn’t like the way I look in a swimsuit. He takes every opportunity to give me crap. He’s not even nice to me. Aren’t guys supposed to be nice if they want a girl? Well, except grade-school boys; I’d expect that from a fifth-grader.
* * *
Paul’s picking me up in five minutes. I finish applying a bit of mascara. That and eyebrow pencil are the extent of my make-up. If I don’t use them my eyes look bald. My platinum hair? Not from a salon.
Even though I’ve cleaned in here, I toss all my shoes out of my closet before I manage to find the sandals that match this outfit. First date. Shouldn’t be late for a first date. I dab on a bit of lip gloss.
Paul pulls up as I turn the key in the deadbolt.
I paste on a smile and straighten the strap on my second favorite sundress. I threw the other one in the laundry bin after Danny left. That was right before I took a shower because I had to wash his scent off, afraid all I’d be able to think about all day was him.
Paul hops out and comes around to open the passenger door. Nice. Danny wouldn’t think of doing that. I bet Danny’s dates are lucky if he doesn’t make them ride on the back of his motorcycle. He’s going to get himself killed on that thing.
“Did you forget something?” Paul’s voice breaks in.
“What?”
“Well, you’re just standing there.”
“Oh. No, I’m sorry. I was thinking.” Good gracious. Have to get my mind off freaking Danny.
Paul shuts my door and comes around the car. As he buckles up, he says, “Everything all right? You look like you could strangle someone. Bad day?”
I cringe. “My best friend left for an African mission trip today. Emotional day. But I’m fine.”
He puts the car into drive. “Thought I’d take you to The Garage. It’s this new place down in The West End.”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
The Garage. Trendy bar. Forty-five minute wait to get in.
My stomach roars. Thank goodness the music’s so loud no one can hear it. I hope Paul doesn’t mind a girl who eats.
I let my gaze travel around the place. Car parts and auto racing memorabilia hang on the walls. We settle at a table in the small area to the side of the dance floor.