Page 12 of Scary In Love
The tension that hangs between us threatens to suck all the air from the room. His eyes are still on the spot between my legs, and when his tongue sneaks out to brush against the corner of his mouth, my thighs squeeze together. He notices, and his jaw ticks in response.
Beneath the underwear I vaguely hoped Peter might peel off me, I can feel my core throbbing. If he keeps this up, they’ll be so damp I’ll be peeling them off myself later. I wonder if I could orgasm just from the way he looks at me.
In something of a trance, he tilts his head to one side and—
Oh my God, can he see up my skirt?
The length is borderline indecent, especially when I’m sitting down, but I’ve never cared much for what people think about how I dress. Until now. My fingers curl around the hem, though I’m torn between pulling it down or lifting it up. Either way, it’s enough to snaphim out of it. He blinks rapidly, clearing his throat as he reaches for his clipboard, knocking it to the floor.
Sheets of paper spill loose, and he kneels before me to gather them up, once last sideways glance at my legs before forcing himself to look away.
He stands, composing himself with the clipboard held low over his groin, and it gives me a thrill to think we might have a similar effect on one another.
“I don’t like that your date ran out on you, Jenna. Or that you need to leave here alone.”
“It’s cool, I’ll call my—” I stop myself before I say ‘dad.’ “A taxi.”
“I have an alternative suggestion,” he says playfully.
Even with an injury, I’m so horny right now I think I’d do literally anything this man told me to.
“If you’re not too uncomfortable, you can come hang out in the bar for a few hours. I’ll fix you a drink, find somewhere to prop your leg up, and I’ll give you a ride home when we’re finished.”
Your shoulders would make a great place for my legs, I think.
“I beg your pardon?” he says, his jaw open in surprise.
Do not tell me I said that out loud.
“What?”
“Did you say something about my shoulders?”
Oh shit. This man really is messing with my head.
“Soldier!” I scramble to recover. “I think I can be a brave soldier. That’s what I said. And I could murder a drink.”
8
Jenna
Thisisthebestfirst date I’ve ever been on, and technically speaking it’s not even a date.
I have a great seat at the bar, my leg propped is up on a cushion, and every second Mason isn’t fixing drinks, he spends flirting with me. At least, it feels like flirting.
I keep catching him looking at my legs, and every time it makes my heart race. His eyes coast a little higher each time until I’m certain he’s not just checking on the wellbeing of my knee. Nobody has ever really looked at me this way, certainly not Peter, and I like it a lot.
Every ten minutes I watch a new group launch themselves through the door while escaping whoever terrorised them on the other side. I love seeing their panicked faces slip into relief when they realise they’re in a safe place at last.
The room hums with nervous energy, and the people-watching is unmatched. Some can’t stop laughing, some are on the verge of tears, and a few look like they might throw up.
Mason beckons them over to the bar and hands out‘I survived the Miller Mansion’stickers. He is charming as hell, and every minute I spend in his company makes me want to know more about him.
Who is he, and where has he been my whole life?
He has a knack for cocktails and flair. When anyone orders shots, he lines the glasses up on the flat side of his axe and pours them from a height, never spilling a drop. I watch their expressions change when he stretches his arm across the bar, holding the axe level with their faces and barking‘drink’at them with his best snarl.
He introduces me to Lulu, a stunning woman whose character flirts outrageously with all her customers, playfully degrading men who look like they were seconds away from pissing their pants.
