Page 44 of Whiskey and Regret

My mouth went dry as I stared at the pristine white shirt hanging open and the way his body flexed with each movement. He snapped his fingers at me, earning him an immediate frown.

I found my words real quick.

“Don’t snap at me,” I fussed. I looked behind me and realized his door was open. I pushed it closed so Frankie couldn’t hear me. The house was big enough but I was being cautious.

“Why the hell did you just walk into my room?”

“Because Frankie is downstairs refusing to eat until you come to the table. She’s super nervous about her pancakes and I wanted you to hurry your ass up before everything got cold and she pretends it’s fine that you didn’t sit and eat what she made.”

Frankie had a habit of brushing things off that hurt her feelings. I watched her do it with her mother every day she was late picking her up from school and I watched her do it with Evander when he was too busy to look at something she was showing him or when he had to dart out on father-daughter time to answer a call. She was almost a master at it. I saw through it every time though. Usually, I didn’t call her out on it but I couldn’t stand to see that disappointed look on her face again. It fucked me up inside.

Evander’s face turned solemn and he nodded. “Thank you for coming to grab me. I did get caught up in a phone call before I started getting dressed but…”

“It’s cool.” I took a few steps toward him like I always did when we were alone for a second too long. I reached out and brushed something off his undershirt, letting my fingers slide over the cotton sheathed muscle.

Damn, he was solid.

His eyes dropped to my hand then he lifted them to mine.

Heat.

Flames.

Whatever sort of too hot feeling it was, swept over me and danced in the inches between us. He had to feel that shit. It was almost palpable.

I swallowed back the knot of desire in my throat and said, “You had something right there.” Being close to him like that, I could smell his cologne, his deodorant, the coffee he drank earlier.

“Did I? This undershirt is new. What exactly did I have on it, Miss Lucas?”

My thighs hummed when he called me by my last name.

“I don’t know. I just…brushed it off for you.”

The moment surrounding us felt familiar. It felt like the day in the foyer when we were centimeters away from kissing. The air was thick and the energy was suggestive.

“What would I ever do without you, Miss Lucas?” Sarcasm dripped from the cocky smirk quirking the corners of his full lips up.

He knew I wanted him and he was flaunting it right in my face.

Was it bad that I didn’t even care?

He was fine as hell. He could flaunt it if he wanted to. I wasn’t mad at all.

“You keep calling Miss Lucas. Am I misbehaving?” I looked up at him then bit my bottom lip. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to flaunt. His eyes took a slow trip over my red-painted lips.

“You are. You’ve been good all month. Don’t lose that streak.”

“What happens if I do?” I quizzed, tapping my cheek.

“Neither of us should find out.”

A laugh popped out of my mouth that made him frown at me. I couldn’t help it. He had big dick energy but I knew better. Even if he was blessed, he more than likely had no idea what to do with it. I’d seen it happen so many times. It was a tragedy really.

“Something funny?” He tipped his chin down a little and his gaze snared me.

“Nothing,” I said softly.

Neither of us spoke again. We let the silence inch in on us like murky water closing over our lips and creeping toward our noses. We stood still, facing each other. Determined not to budge.