Page 28 of Beyond the Bright Lights

She shrugs a shoulder. “You’re young, so I wasn’t sure.”

“You’re obsessed with my age,” I say, trying not to let my disdain seep through. I don’t give a fuck how old she is. My body wants all of her. Her body wants mine just as badly. The way she breathes harder when I'm close or how her nipples push through the thin fabric of the shirts and dresses she wears. I want to take those peaks into my mouth and suck and nip and hope she’ll forget about my goddamn age. “I worked on a TV series that was set in the 80s. So, yeah, I know what a cassette player is.”

“Okay, fine. And I’m not obsessed.”

She scowls at my snort.

“I’m not, Mylan.”

I ignore the way my chest warms, as it always does, when she says my name.

“I’m pointing out how different we are. I’m trying to be real.”

“You know what else is real? Hot summer flings.”

Her hands grip the steering wheel tighter.

“Did you hear my conversation with Ginger?” she asks through her teeth.

“You had a conversation about me?”

“You are infuriating!”

“I’ve been told.”

Her face shades red, annoyed with me. She’s so easily riled up, and I can’t help pushing her buttons.

The stifling heat in the VW bug weighs down on us. I’m sweating, Lana’s sweating. I watch a line of sweat creep down her neck, and this time, I can’t hold back. I reach out, using the tip of my finger to wipe it away from behind her ear, down to her collarbone.

She shivers and tiny goosebumps dot her skin.

“Mylan.” This time, it’s not my heart that comes to life. This time, the breathy way my name comes out of her mouth causes my dick to twitch against my jeans.

In a flash, she lashes out like a viper. Her tiny hand wraps around my finger and squeezes tight.

“You’re distracting me.”

She tosses my finger at me, flashing me a smile. A chuckle ripples through my chest. I swear I’ve never laughed so much around another human being.

“I for sure thought you were about to give me a second strike.”

“Don’t test me.”

“I was never good at tests.”

She huffs out a laugh. “Guess you had to rely on your good looks?”

“Oh, so you do think I’m good looking.”

“You know you are.”

“I know I am, but do you think I’m good looking?”

“Did I not just say it?”

“You said I had good looks, not good looking. And the way you said it was more of an insult than a compliment.”

She rolls her eyes at me, still gripping that wheel so tight, her knuckles are turning white.

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