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“I made you uncomfortable. Bye, Sawyer.” She leaves the book on the bar and starts walking away from me.
“Just wait a sec.” I start after her, going around the bar to reach her, cursing myself for my reaction. “Wait, Brin.”
“What for?”
“… I haven’t.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I haven’t. Had any. Heats, that is. Yet.”
She’s staring at me, and the shaking is back in my hands. What is she thinking?
Dammit, I’ve never talked to anyone about this, not even to Casey or Bee who are omegas like me. I don’t even know her that well, so what possessed me to blurt that out? I should have let her go.
I’m not a virgin.
Okay, I totally fucking am.
My parents are the most prudish conservatives that ever lived on the face of the earth, and Eric refuses to talk sex with me because I am, and I quote, “my little innocent brother.” So damn frustrating. The internet has taught me all I know. I’ve bought dildos to experiment with but… I admit I haven’t gotten far with them.
She still isn’t saying anything, and fuck, I hope the McGraw Pack aren’t eavesdropping on this conversation.
“You know what?” I mutter. “Never mind.” There’s only so much you can do to show someone you like them. After that, it’s pitiful, and I have a shred of pride left. I make myself turn around, though it hurts, and head back to the bar. “Have a nice day.”
She doesn’t follow, and my heart sinks further, dipping to my toes. Why the hell did I think this girl liked me? I’ve been so gung-ho about courting her that I may have become blinded to her lack of reaction. She keeps walking away.
That should be my first clue. And all this extra stress is getting to me. I should?—
“Sawyer,” she says, and that’s when I realize she has actually followed me back to the bar, her sneakers light and quiet on the floor. “Wait.”
My breathing is harsh as I turn back around to face her. “You forgot your book.”
“I forgot many things,” she says, no idea what she means, but as she steps closer to me, I lose every single thread of thought I’ve ever held inside my mind. It’s all unraveling, unwinding. All there is to think about is sparkling eyes and soft lips, the tiny freckles on her nose and that cloud of blond hair, that scent of sweet strawberries and cherries with a dash of vanilla cream and warm cinnamon.
Fuck, I want to lick her all over. I want to bite her. I want to kiss her.
Time slows down as I lift a hand to her face. Her skin is softer than satin, and so warm. The pull she has on me is unreal. It’s as if I have no choice but to move toward her, closer, ever closer until our bodies almost touch. The world fades, the sounds stop, everything but her ceases to exist.
Her mouth is like a perfect rose, small but lush. From up close, her eyes are flecked with gold and green, her lashes curved and dark. Mascara, I think and I think it fondly. She’s wearing pink lip-gloss and mascara and there’s some kind of goop in her hair, or is it hairspray? A slight whiff of chemicals trying to overpower the sweetness of her natural scent, and failing.
She’s beautiful.
She’s perfect.
She tilts her head back and I bow mine, our mouths an inch apart. I’m going to kiss her, seal this proof of her liking me, wanting me. Her eyes half-close, her lips part, her scent rises to possess my senses, and I inhale, drawing it deeper. I’m getting hard, and my heart is banging wildly in my chest. It’s all coming together.
Then someone wolf-whistles.
She jolts back.
The sound penetrates the fog in my brain, and I blink. “What the fuck?”
I turn and see Roman grinning at us.
Damn them!
“Brin,” I start. I have to do some damage control, stat, see if I can save the moment.
