Page 179 of Remy

I scoff. Fucking why?

Does she not understand how much self-restraint it takes to keep things platonic? Doesn’t she have the faintest fucking clue what the temptation of her does to me?

I turn back to her with a cruel smirk, stepping close, leaning in.

She stiffens as I bring my mouth within an inch of her ear and inhale the unrecognizable floral fragrance that catches me by surprise. It’s not as sweet as her strawberry scent, but it still hits me right in the dick.

“Because if I had a night to play pretend, Pyro, I’d have you on your back in a heartbeat with your legs spread and my mouth between your thighs. And I’m pretty sure people around these parts wouldn’t appreciate me doing that in public.”

Her breath catches.

I swear to God, I feel the hitch of it in my own throat.

“Now do you have any more fun suggestions or are you ready for that drin?—”

A passing car beeps its horn, cutting me short.

It’s an anomaly in the abnormally quiet town, the noise pollution stealing my attention.

I track the black sedan as it passes, the tinted windows obscuring some of the male passengers’ features but not enough to hide the driver staring directly at me.

The hair on the back of my neck rises again.

Twice in one night.

Not a good omen.

Ollie’s hands slide from my wrist as she follows my gaze. “Do you know them?”

“I doubt it.” I step into her, guiding an arm around her back. “But a lot of people know me.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Always.” I won’t sugarcoat it. That dress may turn her into a princess but I’m far from a white knight. “Being around me means constantly looking over your shoulder, especially in public.”

“I realize that. But if you’re using this as another excuse to push me away then the joke’s on you because I’d happily never step out in public again.”

I scoff a laugh, unable to help frothing at her enthusiasm to get entangled with a death wish. “You’re something else, Ollie.”

She grins. “Yeah, I am. And you’re currently missing out.” She walks around me, leading the way into the bar.

Like always, I follow. I’m a dog on a leash for this woman.

I pause inside the door to scan the street one last time, watching as the black sedan turns the corner and disappears from view.

One drink, then we’re gone.

Nothing good can come from giving her more alcohol.

She isn’t drunk, but a tipsy Ollie with lowered inhibitions isn’t helping with my restraint.

She’s already at the bar by the time I catch up, ordering an apple martini, while I opt for necessary sobriety and ask for a soda. I lead her to the booth in the far corner, acting unfazed by the extra attention the patrons give us. But it’s our clothes that draw their focus. Not my reputation.

I sit with my back against the wall, my eyes on the room, and Ollie painfully right in front of me.

“You’re on edge.” She sips her martini, looking fucking edible as she meets my gaze over the glass rim. “Is it about those men in the car?”

That, and the fact I want to plow her into next week. “I don’t enjoy being exposed.”

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