Page 72 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

“Do I get a hint?”

“Nope. You just have to trust me.”

“Not even a little one?” I press, my curiosity already eating away at me.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Patience is a virtue, Austin.”

“Yes, and I have none.”

13

gio

Spreadsheets.

Of all the weird shit you can say on a date, she leads withthat.

Singing. Running.

Blow jobs.

All better options!

I glance over at her as the car, driven by the hired driver I arranged for tonight, glides smoothly down the nearly empty street, her clutch balanced on her lap, legs crossed at the ankle, the hem of her dress barely brushing her thighs.

The purr of the engine is the only sound, my focus is entirely on her—on the way the streetlights outside catch the soft curves of her profile and the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.

I slide my hand onto her thigh—absentmindedly, as if it were the natural thing to do—not too high, not too low—just to feel the warmth of her skin through the sheer fabric of that sexy dress.

The fabric is something sheer and shimmery, clinging to her body like it was poured on; her hips. Waist.

Tits.

They’re impossible to ignore, framed by a neckline that’s low enough to turn me on— but high enough to keep it classy.

Jesus, I can barely keep my eyes off them.

I’ve already weighed and measured them in my mind, determined they’re perfectly full, the kind of size that would fill my palms just right.

They rise and fall with each breath she takes, and I catch myself staring for a split second too long before forcing my eyes back to hers.

Not that it matters.

Austin already caught me looking at least three times tonight, the ghost of a knowing smile playing at her lips every time she catches me peeking.

And honestly? Not sorry.

I am such a boob guy.

She doesn’t move my hand when I slide it across the flesh of her leg; rather, shifting her hips in a way that tells me she likes it.

Smooth.

Freshly shaved.

“You good?” I ask, keeping my tone casual, as though my hand isn’t resting exactly where it is.

“I am.” Her lips curve into a smile when she turns her head away from the window to look at me. “Thank you for dinner.”

---