Page 6 of Cherry Beats

“Yeah.”

“Lame.”

“Does my lame offend you?”

“Maybe,” I lied through a half grin.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame. I was—before you interrupted and implied that I had an unusually freaky big dick—using my charm on a willing participant. Now I have this... this need to be smooth sitting in the very top of my chest and nowhere to direct it. The bar’s now empty. You called last orders. You made everyone leave. It’s just us now. You, me, and this…need.”

You, me… us.

They sounded like the sweetest lyrics he could ever play the drums to, and I was in the backstage red zone, the off-limits area, tiptoeing on dangerous ground if I let him see what he was doing to me so effortlessly.

“It’s just a shame you have a bigfuck youstamped across your chest.” He smirked and let his eyes drop to my T-shirt. Suddenly, the quirky slogan I thought I’d loved when I bought it now seemed like the biggest vagina-blocker in the world.

“What else would you like it to say, Presley? Open all hours?”

He rocked his body forward, bouncing on his toes as he unleashed his devilish smile and looked up at me again. “Open all hours sounds good. At least then I could get another drink while we fucked.”

Direct hit! Direct hit!

Those words hit the bullseye. I physically leaned forward from the blow to my stomach, quickly clearing my throat to try not to squeak or beg when I spoke again.

“Dammit, Cherry,” he laughed, pushing himself off the bar and sliding onto a stool in front of me. “I know you don’t like men, but does the thought of me seriously—”

“Wait. What?” I interrupted, raising a hand in the air. “I don’t like men?”

He glanced down at my T-shirt again.

“Hey, just because I warn off arseholes who don’t understand basic, non-groping etiquette, it doesn’t mean I don’t like men.”

Presley’s smirk grew bigger, revealing a dimple in his cheek. Of course, he had dimples. The rat bastard had everything. “You got a boyfriend?”

“I don’t do boyfriends.”

“Why not?”

“Probably for the same reason you don’t do girlfriends. Too much commitment in a life I haven’t yet lived to the fullest.”

He raised a single brow. “Excellent answer. Let me tweak the question a little. Any guys in your life who have made an impact?”

“You mean have I had sex?” I bit back. If anyone else had even dared to ask me that question, I’d have dropped everything just to give them a ten-minute lecture titledMind your own goddamn business, peanut dick.But this was Presley Aron West, and I, for some reason, even though we barely knew each other except for in passing, felt like I wanted to tell him my boring life story, with a spread-eagled naked sacrifice of myself on his bed as an added bonus.

“Oh, I know you’ve had sex.”

“How so, Mystic Mike?”

“Just the way you move.” He shrugged. “Your confidence. Your body sways when you walk like it knows it’s the shit, can perform the shit, ride it, suck it… take itall.”

Holy fuck, the room was spinning.

I cleared my throat again to try and say something witty, but nothing came out.

“C’mon, Tess, you know you’re beautiful. And if you don’t, you should.”

“I’m more… quirky than traditionally beautifully.”

“And quirky can be hella hot when done right.”

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