But you didn’t have these feelings for him last week.
I forced the realization from my head. It wouldn’t do me any good to dwell on my growing feelings for him. They couldn’t go anywhere.
Nick shrugged. “Can’t argue there. But they’re worth it.” Our food arrived, and he stepped back to give the server room to set down the plates. “Enjoy, you guys. Nice meeting you, Natalie. Looking forward to hearing from you. See you, Miles.”
“Nice meeting you too.” I smiled at him and dropped my eyes to my plate.
“Think you’ll call him?” Miles asked, dumping a pool of ketchup onto his plate.
“Maybe.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Because I know you, Nixon. What is it?”
I glanced at him, and he was so cute, and so concerned, and we were such old friends that I almost figured, fuck it—I’ll tell him the truth.
Almost.
I faked a smile. “Nothing, really. I’m just thinking about my shop. Thinking about what I’d do with it if I decided to do something different.”
That seemed to satisfy Miles, and we spent the rest of dinner chatting about the possibilities. When we were done, Miles wanted to take me to a place called The Sugar House for drinks, which was just across the street and down a few blocks. We said goodbye to Nick and left the restaurant, and Miles grabbed my hand as we hurried across busy Michigan Avenue. He didn’t let go when we got to the other side, my heart beat quicker as we strolled hand in hand in the dark. God, I wish things were different. This feels so good with him, so easy.
Inside the bar, a narrow old storefront with high ceilings, brick walls, and, oddly enough, big game heads mounted opposite the long wooden bar. Huge, ornate, floor-to-ceiling drapes on the window and a chandelier in a cozy front alcove gave the place a little Victorian hipster vibe, as did the three tattooed bartenders, who wore ties and vests, their shirtsleeves rolled up and held with garters. They all had thick facial hair, one wore a top hat, and they took their cocktail-making very, very seriously.
Miles and I sat at the bar and ordered drinks, and mine was so delicious I ordered another one right away. Maybe it wasn’t wise to consume so much so quickly, especially since I’d already had two beers at dinner, but the more I drank, the hotter I was for Miles, and that was a much safer feeling than brooding about what could never be. I finished the second drink even faster than the first, and Miles asked if I wanted another.
“Oh, God. I really shouldn’t.” I giggled. “I’m already goofy. I’ll get drunk.”
“Good! You should get drunk. You should get drunk and let me do ridiculous things to your body.”
I leaned toward him, put my hands on top of his thighs. “I don’t need to be drunk for that, silly. You can do anything you like to my body.”
“Uh, in that case. Let me get the check and get you home.” He leaned in too, and spoke low in my ear. “Did you wear that short little skirt just to torture me?”
“Uh huh.”
“You wicked little slut,” he whispered, making all my nerve endings tingle. “I’m going to make you pay for that.”
While I used the bathroom, Miles paid the bill, and by the time I came out, he was waiting for me at the door. Grabbing me by the hand, he ran through the bar, out the door, and down the street toward the parking lot so fast I could hardly keep up.
When we reached the Jeep, he backed me up against the passenger door and kissed me hard, one hand fisted in the back of my hair, his erection pressing against my abdomen.
“Feel that? I’ve been hard for you all night, ever since I saw your legs in that skirt.” He tightened his hand in my hair, and I gasped at the needles of pain prickling across my scalp. “I want to do such bad things to you. Such bad things.”
My heart threatened to pound right out of my chest as he crushed his mouth to mine once more.
“Get in.” He unlocked the door and practically threw me into the passenger seat before storming around to the driver’s side.
On the ride home, I unzipped his jeans and took his cock in my hand, and he slid his hand up my thigh and inside my panties.
“Already wet for me. I like that.” His fingers easily slid inside me, and I grabbed his wrist with my free hand, holding him against me as I swiveled my hips.
“I want you so badly,” I whispered. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“Trust me. I know the feeling.” He pulled his fingers from me and touched them to his tongue. “Fuck. Your taste. I can’t get enough.”