“One,” she murmurs slowly, and I furrow my brows.
One? What does that even mean? One minute? One chance? One kiss? Please let it be one damn kiss…
“Two.” I tease, unable to suppress a chuckle as I tug her closer to the counter, forcing her to lean over it and into my personal space. You’d think she’d learn by now, considering all the times she’s challenged me—whether it’s bringing me tea instead of water, which prompts me to waltz toward the kitchen just to assert my dominance and show her I’m not afraid to get it myself, or telling me to leave when I give her more than an average tip, which only leads to me waiting by her car to give her the proper amount. I don’t back down from a challenge.
I lean closer, and just like clockwork, she stands stiff—an unmoving wall refusing to yield. As much as I love my grumpy little rain cloud, I wish she'd smile; she looks like she needs one just as much as I do.
“Dance with me, and then I’ll leave,” I whisper, letting my words fan against her perfectly red-painted lips.
"That's three. You've had your warning. I don't want to hear you crying when they drag you out in cuffs."
She pauses and tugs at her arm. "And this isn't dancing music."
Can’t she just stay still for a moment so I can savor this?This only proves that I need to be careful while pursuing her. She spooks easily; she’s like a bird that fluffs its feathers to appear unafraid when frightened. But I know her, and by God, I’ll be the man she wants.
“For one, I love the idea of cuffs—we should try that sometime,” I say with a laugh. Her eyes widen as I raise my knee to the bar stool and slowly loosen my grip on her wrist. “Two, any music is dancing music.”
“What are you doing?” she huffs, a dusty pink hue filling her cheeks and contradicting the annoyance she’s trying to express. I release her completely, brace my palms on the counter, and effortlessly pull myself up until I’m standing on it.
“Well, I’m going to count in my head to the beat, since numbers seem to be your thing tonight. I might even shake my ass a little to prove that this can indeed be dancing music,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders as I glance up at the ceiling, as if my eyes can help me hear the song better.
“I meant like couple dancing music! Get down!” she screeches, but the pitch doesn’t bother me as I finally recognize the tune—the speakers blast a classic by MKTO as if it’s a private concert. Good thing too, because she’s the only audience I want.
“Come up here and make me!”
I start slow, rolling my hips to the beat, untucking my shirt from my pants since sweat is already sticking to the fabric.
“Where are those cops?” I point at her, grinning, because she’s already laughing—and damn, that laugh? It’s worth making a fool of myself.
I spin, do a mock bow like I’m some tuxedoed crooner, then snap my fingers in time with the chorus.
“I’m too embarrassed to even call them at this point,” her voice mumbles as she covers her face, her cheeks flushed but peeking through her fingers.
My boots slide on the bar top and I nearly eat shit but I recover with a smug little shimmy, dragging my hands down my chest like I’m the sexiest man alive.
“What a shame. I bet they’d join me.” I crank it up with a few stupid moves I haven’t pulled since I was drunk at the first and last karaoke night at Depth—finger guns, exaggerated body rolls, and the worst moonwalk known to man. Raylen doubles over laughing, clutching her waist.
As the song hits the bridge, I slow down, pointing at her like the lyrics were written for her as I sing—“You’reovermyhead,I’moutofmymind…”
She freezes, her eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, the room doesn’t feel so empty.
“Come on!” I huff, dropping to my knees through heavy breaths as I extend my hand toward her. She shakes her head and steps back, so I take the chance to reach out again, gripping her bicep.
“No, I’ll get fired!” she yelps as I tug her lush form a little harder. I could easily pick her up if I wanted to, but I know that thought is as dangerous as the action itself, given how it has me shifting on my knees to alleviate the rush of bloodflow going to my cock. I’d love to feel every soft curve against mine, to memorize the dips and planes she conceals beneath her baggy shirts and loose apron.
I tuck my lip between my teeth and scan her body, debating what to do. Apparently, she picks up on my thought process because she smacks my hand, trying to break free, and snaps, “Stop! You can't lift me.”
I raise an eyebrow and say, “Is that a challenge?”
Without warning or giving her a chance to reply, I lift her onto the bar beside me, wrapping one arm tightly around her waist while my other hand grips her hip. Raylen's eyes dart between mine, her pouty lips parted in shock. Has no one ever held her like this? Has no one ever picked her up and moved her as she deserves? This woman should be sitting on a throne, with people carrying her and waiting on her at her beck and call, yet she looks at me as if it’s a completely foreign idea.
God damn it. Now I understand how natural it is to fall for someone the way Caspian and Sam did. When there’s a woman right in front of you, looking like a walking dream, you want to do whatever you can to stay in that dreamlike state. I guess Caspian's house makes a little more sense now.
I dip her back.
“You're lucky I’m a gentleman. Typically, a man kisses a woman at this part,”
She shakes her head, her short hair falling toward the floor. “Do it, and I'll put a restraining order on you.”