Page 16 of Ride with Me
“Looks like she’s put me between those two,” Stella says, either unaware of the handful of men still staring at her orchoosing to ignore them. She nods to the footballers standing behind their chairs. “I think they’re Ron’s former teammates.”
She’s right, and my stomach sours over the idea of them being near her. It’s uncalled-for and frankly ridiculous, considering I have absolutely no claim to her, but I’m dismayed nonetheless. I don’t want Stella to move on to a different target—I was perfectly happy to see where being her chosen prey would lead. Even if it was just hours of conversation, even if all I got were a few stolen touches, it would have been better than anything else this night could have brought.
I can’t help the sudden wave of possessiveness that crashes over me. Without thinking twice, I slip a hand behind her neck, my thumb brushing against her racing pulse. I want to press against it. Want to hear her gasp in surprise. Want to feel her give in to it.
As it is, I enjoy the way she tilts her head back, relaxing into my touch, waiting for me to explain the move. But I can’t explain any of this. Not my actions or this desire to make her want to remember me.
“Don’t forget about me in the meantime, yeah?” I murmur, resisting the urge to grip her a little tighter, to drag her to me. To taste that smirk on her lips.
“Oh, Thomas,” she chides, but her dark eyes are wickedly alight. “You’re unforgettable.”
Chapter 6
Stella
I should be embarrassed to be this eager to get back to Thomas. But what can I say? The boy’s fascinating.
I’ve been enjoying slowly unwrapping him, seeing what each new layer reveals. A Formula 1 driver who apparently feels like he’s no longer living the dream, with a family breathing down his neck to get married? Fucking delicious. I don’t evenneedto flirt with him. I just want to sit him down for an in-depth interview like I’m Oprah. Flirting’s just an added bonus.
Moving on to the next event means we can get back to talking. Or maybe a little more than that. I didn’t mind his hands on me while we were on the bus, and the way he gripped my neck before we sat down for dinner was…Well, it was hot. Panty-wettingly hot to be precise. Prince Charming, with his perfect hair and his polished words, clearly has a darker streak underneath the shiny exterior. Another layer to peel away.
Also, I’m verging on drunk. Each course has come with a wine pairing, and even though I haven’t finished off any of the glasses, it’s been a lot. I’ve only taken a few sips of this delicious dessert wine—why the hell wasn’t I drinkingthisnectar of thegods while I was hiding out at home?—but I’m cutting myself off. I’ve got a pleasant buzz going, the kind where I can’t keep the grin off my face or stop the heat in my belly from dipping lower every time Thomas and I lock eyes across the table.
Fuck, he’s handsome.
Pretty boys, unfortunately, have always been my type, but Thomas is a little more rugged than Étienne. Sharper jaw. Thicker neck. A certainsomethingradiating off him that has me nearly giggling. Did I ever feel like that with Étienne? I must have at some point, probably in the beginning…but for the life of me, I can’t remember. I don’t think I want to.
Mika was right. I owe him nothing. But I do owe it to myself to do whatever makes me happy after being miserable for weeks. Months.Years, even, if I’m willing to be truthful with myself. How did I ignore it for so long?
Don’t go there, the little voice in the back of my head warns. So I won’t. Instead, I’ll focus on the pretty race car driver who’s currently sitting too far away from me.
Thomas has relaxed some since the start of dinner. Like most of the men at the table, he’s ditched his tuxedo jacket, and his bow tie is hanging loose around his neck. The moment he rolled his sleeves up to show off strong, veined forearms, I nearly choked on my wine. But I’m enjoying this version of him a little too much. I almost want the buttoned-up parliament-smiling Thomas back. The Victorian gentleman. That one was easier to control myself around.
Because this one? This isn’t Prince Charming anymore. This is a rogue.
Heaven help my pussy full of cobwebs. My self-control needs to be Herculean once we leave here. And judging by the waiters clearing away plates and glasses, it’s almost time to go.
Thomas is behind me the second I push back my chair,offering a hand to help me stand. I take it without a second thought because, one, I’m already swaying. And two, I’ve kind of missed him touching me.
“That wasunbearable,” I groan as we step back and wait for the slightly drunker and slower-moving guests to finally budge. “Those guys were so boring. It’s like all they knew how to talk about was soccer. Pardon me,football.”
Thomas let go of my hand once I was standing, but our fingers brush again down by our sides. I don’t know if it’s accidental or on purpose. “At least you didn’t get stuck between Rachel and Sydney,” he mumbles in reply. “Nowthatwas a nightmare.”
“I thought you liked them?” He at least tolerated them earlier.
“I like you better.” He pauses as the words settle like embers in my chest, but he doesn’t seem to realize the effect they’ve had on me. “Also, Rachel kept stealing food from my plate, and Sydney moaned every time she took a bite. Loudly. It was all very rude.”
I let out a less-than-flattering wheeze of a laugh, pressing a hand to my mouth to smother it, but Thomas grins down at me, apparently not minding the sound.
He’s standing incredibly close. Close enough that I can see that his eyes are ringed by a darker shade of blue and his eyelashes are even longer than I originally thought. It’s too intimate for a man I’ve essentially just met. And yet I find myself shifting toward him, leaning in, letting my shoulder rest against his. My body is inclined to believe we’ve known each other for ages. When his hand cups my hip, I get the sense that I’m not the only one who feels that way.
“Let’s go!” cries a voice from the doors to the private room, and I glance away from Thomas to see Ron waving us out.
“Oh God,” Thomas grumbles. “What fresh horror is next?”
“Strip club,” I remind him, and there’s that grimace again. “It’s gonna be ablast.”
Thankfully, our next stop is only a short walk away instead of another ride on the bus, and he keeps me pressed to his side for the journey. It’s mostly for my benefit—these heels were definitely the wrong choice for a night of drinking, plus Daphne has once again made herself known with several loud huffs from behind us—but I’m convinced that he can’t keep his hands off me. I shouldn’t be so flattered, but goddamn, I’m going to bask in it while I can.
