As we wait for the bartender to bring us our shots, I take a step closer to Preston. He’s got one elbow on the bar, his fingers wrapped around a beer glass. For some reason, I find it hot that he’s drinking a beer. Everyone else in this bar is walking around with expensive crystal glasses of bourbon or scotch.
He looks out of place drinking a beer, but I love it. And it’s the only thing about him that looks out of place. The way he holds himself, his ridiculous chiseled features, and the way he can command the room with little effort tells me that he belongs in this world. He has money—and I’d bet the small dollar amount I have to my name he grew up surrounded by money.
“So, are you going to tell me what you have against blow jobs?” I tease, taking a step toward him. I’m well aware my tone has gotten flirtier with each drink and the more time I spend with him. I can’t help it. I’m incredibly attracted to this man. Maybe I also enjoy getting a reaction out of him.
His jaw clenches, muscles along his cheeks feathering with the movement. “Nothing against blow jobs when it involves my cock. I’m just not a man who enjoys taking shots—especially ones with a name like Blow Job. I’m too old for that.”
He doesn’t move. Even when I take another step closer to him, completely invading his personal space. In fact, he stares right at me, as if daring me to get even closer.
I don’t. He’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, which means he’s exactly what I don’t need this summer. It doesn’t stop me from at least enjoying the flirting tonight. My head may feel a little fuzzier than normal, but I’m still fully in control of my actions. I won’t let anything more happen between us aside from the innocent flirting.
“Is bringing up my cock the way to get you to stop talking?” Preston pushes, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
God. He’s the good kind of asshole, the kind that has me squeezing my thighs together. Or maybe it’s the mention of his…cock and the way the word sounds coming from his lips.
“You’ll have to work harder than that to get me to shut up,” I counter, feeling my cheeks heat. I’m not someone who ever blushes—but oh my god, he’s doing a good job at making me do just that.
Preston leans back a little, his eyes roaming down my body. He takes a large drink of his beer, and I try not to stare at the muscles in his throat as he swallows slowly. Finally, he looks back at me with one raised dark eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me, rebel.”
Before I can comment on the nickname, a girl with dark hair is squeezing right between Preston and me.
“Preston,” she says, her voice high-pitched. “I was hoping you’d be here.”
He looks over her head right at me, his shoulders tight as he answers her. “You knew I would be.”
She laughs, looking back at me as if I’m an outsider to their inside joke. Hell, maybe I am. “Preston is just so funny, isn’t he?” she marvels. “He’s always been this funny.”
I don’t miss how she emphasizes the word always. She’s doing everything she can to make it clear the two of them have known each other for a long time.
The woman reaches out and runs her hand down his chest, making one of my eyebrows shoot up.
To Preston’s credit, he immediately pushes her hand off him, but she doesn’t seem to understand he isn’t interested. I stand there, not wanting to get involved in whatever this is.
“Funny,” I muse, taking the shots from the bartender. “The last thing I ever expected to call Preston was funny. His personality seems a little dry.”
The woman looks at me as if I just committed a crime. Surely, she can’t really think Preston is all that funny. I’ve known him for not even two hours, and nothing about him screams comedian. I guess you could confuse his dryness with humor, but I don’t think anything that comes out of his mouth is intentionally funny.
“Would you like a Blow Job?” I ask her, holding up the shot that was supposed to be Preston’s.
“That’s my Blow Job,” Preston counters, taking it from my hand. The whipped cream at the top jiggles with his rushed movement.
“Thought you weren’t into blow jobs,” I counter, trying to hide my grin. This is far too entertaining. I don’t know whose eyes get wider—hers or his.
“What’s your name again?” the girl asks, narrowing her eyes like she hates me without even knowing a thing about me.
“You never asked in the first place,” I answer with a sweet smile. “But it’s Emma.”
“You’re Preston’s…” She lets the words hang in the air for a moment.
Before I can answer, Preston distracts me by holding the shot to his lips and taking it in one easy gulp. He slaps the empty shot glass on the counter and looks at me with a genuine smile. “She’s my girlfriend.”
CHAPTER 5
PRESTON
“Girlfriend?” Emma repeats, her voice tight as she looks intensely at me.
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Marsha whines, her lips jutting out in a pout, which is comical because I’ve never shown her a shred of interest in the countless years she’s been friends with Peyton.