knew her sister was right, but even two shots hadn’t been enough to clear her head.
Behind her, she felt Aaron—that was his name, right?—slide one of the hands resting on her hips down lower to toy with the hem of her short dress. The pads of his fingers were hard, the calloused skin of a man who worked with them for a living, and she liked the sensation of them scratching her skin. A thin ribbon of arousal spooled out in her belly, and she pressed back against him, making him groan.
“Want to get out of here?” he whispered against her ear. “My place is only a block away.”
She considered. Maybe some sweaty sex was just what she needed to clear her head. Aaron was hot, in a rough kind of way—his nose had the crooked lines of a brawler, and the body beneath his no-nonsense jeans and T-shirt promised that she wouldn’t be disappointed. She suspected that sex with him would be the same—straightforward, simple, a transaction that got them both off.
She could get down with that. She shifted in his arms so that she could reply in the affirmative, but as she did she found her gaze drawn toward the long, sticky surface of the bar. Gaze awareness, she thought it was called—that weird thing that happened when you sensed someone looking at you.
She wasn’t wrong. Someone was indeed looking at her, and when she saw him, she knew she wouldn’t be going home with Aaron tonight, or any other night.
Keeping one eye on her new admirer, she turned in Aaron’s arms, smiling up at him ruefully. “Not tonight, but thanks for the dance.”
He furrowed his brow momentarily, and Meg felt herself tense. Some men—not all men, but some—didn’t understand that a dance wasn’t a promise, that accepting the offer of a drink, or a flirtatious conversation, or the choice of a short skirt and high boots wasn’t a contract promising that they’d get their rocks off.
Aaron, however, shrugged good-naturedly after a moment of disappointment and took off into the crowd, in search of a woman who would take him up on that offer of simple sex. Meg exhaled a sigh of relief before turning back to where the other man still watched her, a slight smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.
“See something you like?” she asked with more than a hint of sarcasm as she approached him, signaling for the bartender. She didn’t expect him to answer, because they both knew the truth—they’d been hot for each other since the moment they’d met, but their moment had passed. She’d been sprinting forward with the opening of A Moveable Feast, managing a million details, but she still would have made the time for what she just knew would be toe-curling sex. He’d pulled back, though, just a bit, immersing himself in his role at Theo’s dating-app company, and the heat between them had turned itself down to a manageable simmer. Especially when Theo had made sure to take her aside and explain, in no uncertain terms, that while John was a great option for casual sex, he didn’t ever—ever—do more than that. And also that if John went anywhere near her, Theo would go after his testicles with Jo’s manicure scissors.
Meg had rolled her eyes, informed him that her tomboy sister didn’t own any of those and then punched him in the gut. He’d doubled over, wheezing, but she’d made her point—she made decisions about her own life. No one else.
However, when it came to sex, both parties had to agree, and since she suspected that Theo had given John that same “don’t touch my sister” chat, she was pretty sure that he no longer viewed her as a potential partner for sexual escapades.
It was just her luck that she’d run into him when she was keyed up from dancing with Aaron and had sex on the brain. It made it harder to ignore that knee-jerk punch of attraction.
Accepting the icy bottle of beer from the bartender, she took a long swallow, letting the crisp liquid cool her off. Thus fortified, she turned to face him, let herself take him in.
She was attracted to him, but she wasn’t so naive as to think that she was the only one. She’d have had to be blind not to appreciate the sheer perfection of his face. She’d grown up next door to Theo, who, while she’d sure never seen him that way, turned plenty of heads with that whole Latin lover thing he had going on. She’d dated men who were nice to look at, but John was just ridiculously good-looking. His skin was a smooth medium brown, and next to it his pale eyes—which were, of course, fringed with lashes long enough to make a woman weep—were impossible not to focus on. He kept his ebony hair buzzed down close to his head, letting the lean planes of his face take center stage, and his body was a continuation on the theme—the man obviously logged some serious gym time, because, well, damn.
It didn’t surprise her that half the women in Boston had reportedly dropped their panties the second he’d arrived in town.
Dammit. He caught her looking, and that smug little half smile deepened, making her stomach do a little flip.
Down, girl. This wasn’t going to happen. He’d flirted with her when they’d first met, but Theo had put any attraction John felt on ice. And she could deal. Hell, they’d had dinner together a week ago, and she’d kept her horniness in check just fine. Of course, there had been six other people at that dinner, and she hadn’t been wearing next to nothing with sex on the brain.
“Hey!” Meg protested as John stole the beer right out of her hand, though nerves danced in her skin where his hand brushed hers. “Give that back!”
“You asked if I saw something I liked,” he replied innocently before taking a long sip of her drink. She couldn’t tear her stare away from the muscles working in his throat as he swallowed.
Handing the beer back to her, he kept his fingers on the bottle even after she’d taken it. Her pulse skittered even as she rolled her eyes. It was because she was already slightly aroused from dancing with Aaron. It was absolutely not because her admiration of John had grown into a full-fledged crush.
“Yes, because obviously I was referring to the beer.” Even though she wanted to prolong the contact, she tugged at the beer until he released it, though when she pressed her lips to it, she could have sworn that she could taste him on the glass.
He sees you as a sister now, Meg. Deal!
If only he didn’t make her mouth water when he fixed her with that stare.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to notice me. You were...occupied.” John waved an arm toward where she’d been dancing with Aaron. Though his tone was teasing, she thought she saw a flash of...well, of something in his eyes. Surely that wasn’t jealousy. No, definitely not.
He could have literally any woman in this bar—sexy, sweet, thick, thin. And he was not the kind of man to get jealous over her dancing with another man, no matter the chemistry between them. And she was absolutely not disappointed by that. Nope. Not her.
“Wasn’t feeling it,” she replied, which was only half a lie—she’d been feeling it, at least a little bit, until she’d seen John.
Maybe she should wade back into the crowd and find Aaron, take him up on his offer. The longer she stood there, looking at what she couldn’t have, the friskier she felt.
“Good.” Her gaze snapped to him, shocked. “You can do better.”
“Excuse me?” She blinked, not sure what to make of his words. “Why, because he wasn’t wearing a suit? Maybe what I want is a guy who works with his body. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Not what I meant, kitten.”
