Payton has been in deep conversation with one of Hetch’s workmates, Hart, since they joined the table. He’s the oldest of the team, not that you can tell. Other than a few gray flecks around his hairline, you wouldn’t know the gentle-looking giant is almost forty years old.
I’m not surprised Payton and Hart are getting on. As soon as he said he was a single father, he and Payton had a level ground. Though they seem to have hit it off, I know it’s an innocent conversation. As much as Payton likes to play the outrageous friend who acts like she’s into everything, and anything, for reasons still unknown to me, she’s still madly in love with my stupid brother.
If only he wasn’t such an idiot.
Sophie has been talking with Tate, the cute younger member of the team. Tate is quiet, a little shy, Sophie’s type down to a T. Add in his blond hair and blue eyes, I wouldn’t be surprised if something more ends up happening after tonight.
And Fee has been sharing her attention between Sterling and Fox.
If ever there were two men polar opposite, these men would be it. Where Sterling is light, Fox is dark.
Clean shaven, to a full beard.
Green, gentle eyes to brown, assessing ones.
Soft smiles to deep scowls.
Sterling ticks all the boxes for a good guy. Fox screams fuck-your-checklist; I am the ultimate bad boy. In fact, I’m still not sure how to take him. He’s barely said a word, other than a few grunts, but it hasn’t slipped my attention the few times he’s thrown one of his scowls Payton and Hart’s way.
I’m not sure how to read him, considering he seems to be the type of guy who looks pissed off all the time, but I’m definitely getting a vibe.
“So, is the tactical team a full-time unit?” Fee asks the guys, still interested in their line of work.
Sterling answers first, and I listen to him rattle off how they technically are a part-time unit, but practically train and work as a full-time unit, until I feel Hetch’s gaze on me. I try harder to stay engaged in the conversation, nodding along like I’m taking in everything he’s saying, but after a few more minutes, the soft touch of Hetch’s finger starts to glide over my jean-clad thigh.
Jesus.
Ignoring his touch makes it harder to stay focused. And staying focused makes it harder to ignore his touch.
Hetch seems unaffected, answering another question Fee asks. All the while his fingers are innocently stroking my thigh, in the most devilish way.
“You okay, Liberty?” Sterling asks me when Hetch’s finger inches closer toward the middle of my legs.
“Ahh, yeah.” I squeeze my thighs together, locking him out. It’s like he teased me into a trance.
Jesus, get it together.
Needing a moment to compose myself, I stand from my chair.
“Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.” I find Payton’s eyes, letting her know where I am.
“You okay?” she mouths. I nod once with a reassuring smile and then make my way to the bathroom.
The line to the restroom is short, and after using the toilet, and washing my hands, I take a minute to force some deep breaths into my lungs.
“Keep it together, Lib,” I coax myself through the mirror, trying to talk myself down from the arousal he’s stirred in me. “Do you really want a one-night stand right now?” My body is saying yes, but my head says no. Deciding on an action plan, I take one last look in the mirror, fix my lipstick, tell myself to stay strong, then step out into the hall, only to find Hetch waiting for me.
Shoulders to the wall, hands in the pockets of his deliciously tight jeans, which fit his ass perfectly, he smirks when our eyes collide.
Yep, dangerously perfect.
“Hey, you.” He pushes off the wall, and steps forward, invading my space.
“Ahh, hey, back at ya.” I try to keep some distance, but his overpowering presence makes it hard. I’ve never seen myself as short. I mean five feet seven’s not model tall, but with heels these days, I find I’m around eye level with an average male. Standing in front of Hetch, it’s not the case. The guy has to have a foot on me. Even with my heels.
“You want to get out of here, Liberty?” His face lowers to mine in a slow, measured pace. My mind is screaming at me, reminding me about a certain sabbatical I promised myself, but my body is melting against him, ignoring all rational thought.
“Yeah,” I think I reply, or maybe I sigh. I can’t be sure, nor do I have a chance to figure it out, before the soft touch of his lips find mine and wipe any and all thinking from my capacity. At first, it’s a ghost of a touch, then a little more. Expecting to be consumed with the sweep of his tongue, and anticipating the power of his lips, I’m rather disappointed when, after a modest graze of our lips, he pulls back.
What the hell?