Page 47 of The History Between Us

“That’s my parents’ house,” I explain. “I’m back in my own house, whichisright around the corner.” Taking a step closer, his rich mahogany scent fills my senses. “Maybe you could’ve asked me that if you hadn’t spent the last two weeks ignoring me.”

His jaw flexes as he meets my gaze. “I haven’t been ignoring you.”

My lips tip up as I pat beneath his shoulder with my hand. “Sure, you haven’t. Now, follow me to my house,Doc.”

It’s a damn miracle when he finally climbs into his car as I’m starting mine. About ten minutes later, we’re pulling into a parking spot in front of the bar. The parking lot isn’t very full, but that’s not surprising, even for a Saturday afternoon. Meg and Dr. Braylon—I guess maybe I should call himDougoutside of the free clinic—are already here, as is Scott, Meg’s boyfriend.

William and I draw closer to the table they’re sitting at, and he’s still stiff as ever. Meg smiles when she sees us. “Yay, you’re here!”

“A round of shots for the birthday girl?” I ask, hiking my thumb over my shoulder toward the counter.

Her eyes widen with excitement. “Yes, let’s!”

William groans beside me, but it’s quiet enough that I’m sure only I heard him. I chuckle to myself as I head to the bar and order a round of tequila shots. By the time I bring them back to the table, William has found himself a seat beside Doug, and much to my pleasure, the only other open one is right next to him. Setting down the tray of shots, I sidle up beside William before passing the tequila out.

“To Meg,” I announce, holding my glass up. “May this be the best twenty-first year of your life.”

She snorts. “I’m twenty-seven, dork.”

“Yeah, says who? Drink up, birthday girl.”

We all toss the liquid back; some of us better than others. Meg’s boyfriend almost pukes as he downs the liquor.Wimp.

“Are you doing anything with your family for your birthday?” William asks.

Meg nods. “Yeah, we’re going to Cheyenne next weekend for a little trip. It should be fun.”

“How long have you two love birds been together?” I ask, indicating between Meg and Wimp Boy.

Glancing at him, there’re practically hearts in her eyes. She smiles before glancing back to me. “It’ll be three years next month.”

As casually as I can, I lean back in my chair, letting my leg inch over, right up against William’s. My ankle rubs his, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning at the way his body stiffens beside me.

“How’d you meet?” I ask.

Meg dives into a semi-interesting story about how she and Gags McGee were set up on a blind date through mutual friends over the holidays. There was ice skating and hot chocolate and mistletoe involved. But I’m finding it rather impossible to listen when the pressure of William’s calf is brushing against my own. When I can see out of my periphery the way the vein in his neck is throbbing, and the way his Adam’s apple rolls in his throat when he swallows harshly. When I can see the way his chest rises and falls a little quicker as his breathing gets more rapid. There’s something so… alluring, so intoxicating, about knowing I have the ability to affect a man of his caliber the way that I do. The way a single brush of my foot sends him into a panic. The way I’m willing to bet a year’s worth of rodeo winnings that if I were to reach over right now and cup him through his pants, I know I’d find him hard for me. And that little tidbit of information has my cock thickening in my jeans as the time goes on.

We end up ordering some nachos and mozzarella sticks for the table, along with a pitcher of beer. The conversation flows easily, and even William seems to be relaxing a bit. And what a perfect time to fuck with him some more. Sitting back in my chair, I kick my legs wide, the side of my thigh now pressing against his. He visibly stiffens immediately, but he doesn’t pull his leg away. A quick glance around the area tells me that nobody is watching us, so I stealthily bring my hand under the table, running my palm across the top of his thigh. The muscles tense beneath my touch, and I hear William exhaling roughly. Poor guy’s probably ready to explode.

Maybe I should stop…

Who the fuck am I kidding? I’m not doing that.

“Doug,” I murmur, my gaze finding him across the table. “How’re Heather and the kids?”

“Oh, they’re good.” He smiles in that faraway way that somebody does when they start talking about their spouse and children. “My youngest started karate last week.”

As he pulls out his phone to show the table all the pictures, I squeeze William’s thigh before inching a little farther in. My palm rubs up and down as we all listen to Doug explain his kid’s first class and how it went. With my free hand, I grab my beer, bringing the chilled glass up to my lips as I take a sip. When I set it back down on the table, I glance quickly at William, finding him stock still, jaw clenched as he watches Doug, pretending to be paying attention when I know for a fact his mind is everywhere but this conversation.

Before I have a chance to move my hand any closer towhere I really want to go, he reaches under the table, placing his hand on top of mine, squeezing. His hand is warm and soft against mine, and I allow myself a moment to relish the feel of it before I turn my hand over, linking our fingers together. A bolt of electricity and arousal settles through my veins as I hold his hand in mine, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for us to do.

Yes, I’m mostly doing it because I know this isn’t what he was intending when he grabbed me, and I’m sure it’s annoying him. But also… I’m kind of taken aback by how much I like it. How much I don’t want to let go. Surprisingly, he doesn’t pull away right away. Doug finishes gushing about his family, all while, the soft heat from his palm radiates into mine. And when he does finally withdraw, I find myself missing the touch almost immediately.

I don’t care how I do it, but I will have William underneath me again by the end of the night, whether he knows it or not.

I need him on a visceral level. Need to be touched by him. Kissed by him.Heldby him… What would that be like? I’m not a cuddler, but something about his big, strong arms has me wondering what it would feel like to try.

I’m in trouble, but I can’t find it in me to care. This can never go anywhere, so I may as well enjoy it for what it is while I can—some hot, low-down fun.

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