Page 26 of Privilege
From out of nowhere, my brain conjures up the images of Reese Witherspoon being fingered by Mark Wahlberg inFear.My pussy spasms unexpectedly.
Shit.
I ease off the gas and chance a glance at Dane. “A girl could get used to this,” I murmur. “But I’m stuck with my truck. Like the rest of us peasants.”
He rolls his head dramatically, and I can tell he’s rolling his eyes too. “Ugh, God, I’m so tired of poor people pretending rich people don’t have problems too. Do you know howhard it isto staff a yacht?”
I smack his arm but his chest is shaking, and soon so is mine.
I hate to admit it, but I’m having a really good fucking time.
Chapter Thirteen
Dane
If she were anyoneelse’s girl I’d be doing everything in my power to steal her, up to and including kidnapping.
I stare at her openly while she devours her plate of crab legs. I’d sent us in the direction of Montauk instead of East Hampton and she’d screeched to a halt in front of a diner attached to a gas station. Normally I’d have reservations about eating food with a side of petroleum, but with her hair swept back and her pink cheeks all windburned beneath her freckles, I felt helpless.
I can’t even remember the last time I ate real food with a woman on this fucking island. I’m not sure I’veeverseen Evelyn eat, come to think of it. But here’s Cara, on her second plate of all-you-can-eat crab legs after a mammoth basket of onion rings, and all I can think about is spreading her open right here in this booth until the vinyl seat has become a slip n’ slide.
She notices me staring at her and pauses, the bottom of her flimsy paper bib fluttering in the breeze from the open windows. Worried she’ll stress out about actually eating food, I open my mouth to say something, to head it off, but she smiles at me—a fifteen-thousand megawatt smile—and I’m not sure what’s pounding more: my dick, or my heart.
“My dad always takes me to places like this,” she says.
I wait for the snark, the snideness, the something-that-indicates-her-daddy-issues moment, but it doesn’t come. If anything, she looks wistful.
“He’s… alright?”Wow, I have no fucking clue what to say to someone with a wholesome family.
“He’s a trucker. We spend a lot of time in places like this. You sort of get a feel for whatones will fill your belly for two days on twenty bucks, and what ones will make you wish you were dead.”
I side-eye her. “I hope this is the former.”
She points a crab leg at me. “You’re a risk-taker. I’ve built up a tolerance to grease and botulism. Could go either way for you.”
“It’s a nice change to see a woman eat something other than lemon water and cocaine.”
She doesn’t even look sheepish about it. If anything, she sits up a little taller. Like she’s proud of herself.
Good girl.
Ah, shit.
“How’s it going over here?” the server asks. He’s a stocky dude, all chest and no neck, and haschecked on usat least four times already.
“She’s fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
He ignores me. “Are you a local?” he asks.
I force myself not to physically roll my eyes. He’s obviously a Montauk lifer, and knows she isn’t. This place isn’t big enough tonot know someone.This is the worst pick up I’ve ever witnessed.
“Nope,” she says politely, but dismissively. She pulls off her paper napkin and tosses it onto the nowempty plate with a huge sigh before slumping back in her seat. “How far is the drive back to Blackstone?”
No-Neck turns to me, eyes narrowing. “The Blackstone?”
Cara frowns and cocks her head at me. “The Blackstone? I thought it was justBlackstone.”
Lego Boy’s shoulders would rise if he had a neck to raise them around. Tension solidifies around the table like bacon fat.
