Page 58 of Love on the Waiver Wire

“Oh I love that wine,” she tells me as she takes it from my hands, grabbing her wine opener.

“I hoped you did,”

“I’m so excited to see what you have up your sleeves.”

I smile, unpacking my bag. The sun set about an hour ago, the days getting shorter and shorter. The bay out the window looks beautiful as the moon cast an angelic glow.

Isla went all out tonight at her place. The light is low, candles lit around the large room. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s challenging me. Trying to test how good I can be.

There’s nothing I want more than to kiss her right here, right now.

Isla lifts her hair up into a ponytail, and my eyes immediately zero in on her chest. She’s gone braless, her pert nipples poking through her thin shirt, the balls of the bars through them making my mouth dry.

Fuck.

“Isla Warner, are you trying to seduce me?” I ask simply, smirking as I pull a couple onions from my shopping bag.

Her eyes widen, her mouth hanging open. The things I could do to that mouth?—

“I would do no such thing.” She shakes her head, her hair already coming loose.

I look around the room again, raising an eyebrow at her as my eyes drop once again to her chest.

“But it sounds like that’s all you can think about,” the minx smirks at me, leaning back in her seat, her shirt tightening across her even more.

“I think it’s a reasonable thought,” I reply, going back to making dinner.

“If it happened I don’t think I’d be upset,” she says quietly, examining her paint-splattered nails.

“How much wine have you had before I got here?”

“None.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“I would never ever lie to you, Crosby.” She looks up at me from under her lashes, a seductive smile spreading across her lips.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to.”

She takes a slow sip from her wine glass, her eyes on me the entire time.

I can feel myself harden, straining against my pants, and I press myself against the counter to hide it. I don’t need her to use that as ammunition right now, no matter how much I may want her to.

To distract her, I ask her about her day.

“It was okay,” he says, taking another lazy sip. “I got one piece done finally, and another is making good progress.”

“When is your show?”

“Three weeks.”

“It’s coming up fast.”

She nods, twirling her glass in her hand.

“I’m ready for this one to be over though. I’ve only done a couple, but for some reason I feel so much pressure about this one. I feel like it could be my moment. Like I can finally make a name for myself, you know?”

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