Page 11 of Sweet Escape

Maybe it sounds bold, but I know what I look like. My red hair and curvy figure attract attention, mostly from men.

But whatisunfamiliar iswantingto be watched.

From the moment our eyes connected at the bar, something in the back of my mind said that I wanted his gaze on me at all times.

Which is a bit infuriating considering how certainly I believed I would despise him.

“I’m sorry I ate the last of your ice cream,” I finally say, extending an olive branch. “That was rude of me.”

Memphis shrugs. “It would have been rude if it was the last of the ice cream.”

I blink, confused, and I watch as he walks to the fridge and opens the freezer door, digging around for a second before pulling out another carton.

My mouth drops open. “You knew that was in there this whole time?”

He grins, shrugs, and closes the door. “You’re not the only person in the world who eats ice cream in the middle of the night.”

I cross my arms as he tugs off the lid and peels off the protective seal. And when he takes a big bite, mischief clear on his face, my eyes narrow.

But there’s no real heat behind it.

No, the heat is in my belly as he scoops out another bite and puts it in his mouth, watching me the entire time. It’s almost sinful, and I can’t help the way I get distracted by his mouth. It happened earlier, at the bar too, and I’d found myself unable to look away as he spoke, as he licked his lips, as the edges tilted up with a smile.

It made me wonder what it would be like to kiss those lips.

Among other things.

We stand in silence as he takes a second bite. But then he jabs his spoon into the dairy confection and extends the carton my way.

I pause only briefly before accepting his offer.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to share this with me, considering the stink you made when I was eating it before,” I tease, scooping a small spoonful.

He shrugs a shoulder. “I figured if there’s a way to appease the crazy lady rummaging through my kitchen in the middle of the night, I better take advantage of it.”

I snort and roll my eyes, but I don’t address his “crazy lady” comment, just enjoy another bite before passing the carton back.

“You never told me any of those scandalizing stories from the nightclub.”

He’s kind to not mention why: because I had declared him the enemy the second he told me his name.

Nibbling on the inside of my cheek, I think it over, trying to decide what story to share.

“Well, there were the many times I caught people having sex in a bathroom stall,” I say, testing the waters with a story that could be any nightclub on any night.

Memphis scoffs. “Oh, come on, I thought you were going to scandalize me.” He sets the ice cream on the counter and leans back, crossing his arms. “Isn’t sex in a bathroom stall like ... an intro to what happens at a nightclub?”

I laugh at how directly he’d echoed my own thoughts. “All right, that’s fair.”

I reach out and grab the carton, digging in for another bite as I think back, trying to find a different story. A better one that might be more likely to shock him.

After taking another spoonful, I return the carton to the island counter.

“I only worked at the club for six months,” I start, bracing my hands behind me and lifting myself up so I’m seated on the edge. “Toward the end, I moved from the main bar to the private bar, which was in a room that overlooked the dance floor. And on my first night, this guy came in with a big entourage. We chatted for a little bit when he took a seat at the bar, but I left him alone when this girl came and sat in his lap.”

As the memory flits through my mind, I still can hardly believe it really happened.

“When I checked in a few minutes later to refill his drink, the girl was like ... gyrating against him. Which isn’t the craziest thing in the world. I figured she was grinding against him like people do at a club.”

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