Page 84 of Sin with Me

“Thank God I turn down those donuts at work every day.” I smile at my own joke to keep from completely freaking out over the way he’s looking at me right now.

His expression remains serious as he continues to scan me from head to toe, his eyes pausing when they reach the tops of my thighs. I’ve never felt so good about being under such intense scrutiny. Please, tell me you like what you see.

“Are you wearing panties?” he asks.

I feel the blush rush to my cheeks. “You didn’t leave much room for them.”

He grins and extends his arm, inviting me to hook mine underneath. “Come with me.”

I take his arm, and he grabs my glass of champagne then sets it on a nearby table. He watches me as I look up at him then back at the glass. If I’m going to make it through this night without embarrassing myself or running out the door like a Disney princess, I’m going to need that back.

“I’m hoping that won’t be necessary tonight.” His eyes search mine for signs of an argument. He’s obviously got more trust in my strength than I do. And for both of our sakes, I hope he’s right.

“What do you have against drinking?” I ask him as he smiles to himself and leads me through a crowd of people.

He stops smiling and looks at me. “Nothing.”

“But you don’t drink?”

“Who says I don’t drink?”

I let out a frustrated sigh. Why does he make every conversation so complicated? “I just thought since…well…since…”

“You thought because I don’t want you drinking tonight, that I’m against drinking in general?”

“Well, yeah.”

He smiles again and places a hand at the small of my back. That smile. His touch. I’m going to self-combust.

I was right. Every woman in this place stops to stare at him when we walk by.

“I drink.” He smirks. “Occasionally.”

“Whiskey?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Scotch?”

“Only when I’m with my father. That’s his drink of choice.”

I remember a night at Suppato’s when Carlos told Jaxon to make two drinks, one for him and one for Cal. That was the night I learned who he was.

“Tequila?”

He scrunches his nose and adamantly shakes his head, the way someone would shake away a bad memory. I try to imagine Cal drunk and draw a blank. Even in my imagination, I can’t think of a single moment this man isn’t in complete control. Suddenly, I want to know that memory he’s shaking off. I want to hear that story. I want to hear all his stories.

“Hmm,” I wonder out loud, “Pina Coladas?”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Peroni.”

“Beer?” I ask as if he’s just told me he drinks toilet water.

“Beer,” he answers.

“Hard to picture you as a beer chugger.”

“Well, one doesn’t simply chug Peroni,” he says as if the beer is something sacred, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter at his playfulness.

I suspect not many people have seen this side of him. My heart swells knowing that he’s chosen to share it with me.

We spend the next half hour socializing, and I learn that there are a lot of people in this city who respect Cal, even though he’s so young. A few of them I recognize from the restaurant, but most of them I don’t know. I try not to eavesdrop on too many of the conversations, so I distract myself with people-watching.

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