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“What makes you think I watch porn?”
“Because you do,” is unexpectedly interjected into the conversation causing both of us to whip our heads in the direction of the hallway that leads to the formal dining area.
While Wes’s appearance is a surprise, the fact his back is to us, preventing me from seeing anything more than a basic human outline, isn’t.
What’s his problem?
Does he have like an extra testicle hanging from his chin or something?!
“Seriously?” his best friend huffs in obvious amusement. “Did you really come all the way down here just to sell me out?”
“No.”
“Oh, so that was just a happy a coincidence?” I tease, wanting him to engage with me.
Hoping he will.
“Extremely.”
My giggling is buried underneath J.T.’s good-natured scoffing. “Embarrassing me makes you happy?”
“It doesn’t make me sad.”
More laughter leaves me and to my shock, Wes too.
Huh.
That’s quite a sound.
Dark and deep and delicious like the expensive alcohol he crafts.
Honestly?
I think becoming inebriated by it would be much better than getting wasted on his booze.
“Wanna come have pizza and beer with us?” I suggest at the same time I contort my frame to better face his direction. “I don’t bite…” A suggestive lick of my lips is taken despite the fact he can’t see it. “You know… unless you want me to.”
An unmistakable groan reverberates around the large room – most likely without his consent – allowing his best friend to be the who chuckles this time.
Hates me in his house.
Wants me in his bed.
It’s a tale as old as time.
“She’s not eating pizza,” J.T. states, tossing his best friend a lifeline. “She’s eating blasphemy.”
“You must be eating something with jalapeños.”
“How’d you know?”
“He hates spicy food.”
“I’ve got ten bucks that says he likes spicy women.”
A gargled mess of an objection happens from the other couch; however, I keep my stare posted on Wes.
Maybe he can’t see me see him, but I know he can feel it.
