Page 43 of The Girlfriend Zone

“Yeah,” I admit. “You’re not wrong. All those things went through my head, but mostly I was trying to look at you…while not looking at you.”

She licks her lips, glancing toward the bar’s front door, then back to me. “Were you successful?”

“Not in the least.” Afuck itmentality takes over as I slide a hand along her thigh under the table. It’s such a relief to touch her again. Such a privilege. It blots out everything around us.

She shudders, and the way it runs like a wave through her body spurs me on. I shouldn’t be touching her like this in public, but I do it anyway. No one can see my hand under the table.

Butshecan feel it.

So I run my hand down to her knee, cup it, then move my palm back up, covering her thigh.

A gust of breath escapes her pretty lips.

Her eyes float closed for a few dangerous seconds, and I’m tempted, so damn tempted to succumb to this…spell.

That’s how I feel with her.

Like there’s nothing else beyond The Spotted Zebra’s doors.

Like we’re immune to the world.

And I could lean in. Kiss that gorgeous mouth. Feel her melt under my touch. And forget the promises I made myself mere hours ago so I can take her home and fuck her again the way we both want.

Goddamn, I need to stop this train of thought.

Instead, I inch closer to Leighton, squeeze harder, touch more.

She shudders again and lets out the most intoxicating sound. My brain short-circuits. I’m not thinking. I’m justdoing.

“I’m about as successful in not touching you as I was at not looking at you,” I murmur.

She turns her gaze slightly, her hair falling as she looks at me. “I’ve noticed.”

My touch turns softer now, more teasing as I drag my fingers slowly down her leg once more. “You’re a little irresistible, Leighton.”

Just like when I said I was a little into her.

“And you really should resist me,” she says, moving closer to me. We’ve created this vortex where we can give in—a no-man’s land, free of rules and consequences.

A space in the hazy glow of night where drinks flow, soft music pulses, and Leighton’s heady scent drifts around me.

“Yes, I should,” I say, breathless. Then she drops her hand under the table too, finding mine and then covering it.

Fuck me.

This wicked seduction should not feel so good. Her hand on mine sends electric pulses through my body. I swallow roughly, breathing out hard as she slides her fingers between mine, watching me the whole time.

My god, she’s so fucking sexy. Does she even realize what this simple touch does to me?

My money’s on yes. Her eyes are full of instinct, awareness, and passion as she glides her hand under mine so that our palms touch, our fingers clasp.

Heat roars in me.

I’m ridiculously turned on by this woman holding my hand under the table. This is how you touch someone’s hand before you fuck. This is foreplay. We steal touches and pile kindling on a fire while the flames crackle.

“I really should stop,” I rasp. Instead, I let go of her hand and trail my fingers along her forearm, tracing her ink there, and she trembles.

Her gaze drifts down, and she watches me touch her while seconds stretch into a fever dream. “I should go,” she says. “Maybe that’s easier.”

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