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“Another one of these,” I say, holding up my empty margarita. He nods, and I look toward the bar to see Meredith talking with another girl I remember from high school. “What’s your deal with her anyway?”
“There is no deal. Just a dumb mistake,” he mutters, and a laugh escapes me.
“No! You didn’t?” I say, trying not to sound too incredulous and amused.
He glares at me. “Can we please not? Just let me get your drink?”
“Sly, I thought you had standards.” I gesture up and down my front. “Clearly, they’ve fallen off.”
He closes his eyes and sighs, stroking his beard slowly. “It was during a very bad time for me. I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take a lot of things back.”
When he opens his eyes—those blues that still cut right through me—are a raging torrent of emotions. It’s not only the remorse I saw earlier, which he should feel any time he looks at me. That’s the least he can do when he thinks about how he broke my heart. What I see in his eyes, it’s… it’s more than that.
“Really?” I arch a brow at him, clearly infused with tequila-fueled confidence. “Like what?”
“Do I need to write you a list? Because I can, if that’s what you want. It won’t be a short one,” he says, biting out the words.
Maybe the tequila is talking for him too, because that’s the most open he’s been with me in the last two weeks. That’s the most he’s even hinted at our past. Even with that damn beard, I know his jaw must be clenched because I swear I hear his molars grind. He’s always had a penchant for being surly, but this level of self-loathing is new. My issues with him aside, something about it doesn’t sit well with me, and I don’t know how to handle that. So I do the most logical thing I can and awkwardly stay silent and in my seat.
He at least has the decency not to call me out on my sudden inability to emit words. Instead, he starts to stand. That’s when I see Meredith heading our way, probably summoned by the bat signal that is all six-foot-four of Sly.
“So, um…” I start, “I think the bar’s coming to you.”
“What?” He gives me a confused look before he spots Meredith and drops his head with a labored sigh. “Fuck my life,” he mutters into his palm before rubbing that infuriating beard.
As Meredith gets closer, I swear I can see Sly tense even more as he sits back down. He might have made a mistake with her, but that doesn’t mean she gets to make the person I used to love feel like a shell of himself.
Really, who is this bitch? If anyone is going to make him feel uncomfortable, it’s going to me—the girl he let down when she needed him the most.
“Sly.” I slide off my stool and step toward him, setting my phone down on the table. “I don’t have time to explain, but shut up and go along with this.”
“What are you—”
I don’t give him time to finish his sentence. Leaning into my performer side, it feels effortless when I close that gap between us, and climb into his lap, sitting on his muscular thigh. My arms fall right into the place they have been so many times, draped around his thick, muscular neck. What comes next is so instinctive and natural that I don’t even have to think. From the corner of my eye, I only catch one glimpse of Meredith giving me a stare that I’m worried might actually kill me.
I don’t have time to consider the possibility of that happening. Instead, it’s Sly’s eyes that have me contemplating my own existence on this mortal plane. He looks confused, but his pupils are blown with that unmistakable hunger that wakes up something in me that I desperately need to ignore. Him though, I’m nearly certain that he’s holding his breath and has no idea what’s going on.
“Don’t worry. You’ll thank me later,” I breathe against his neck, just before I bring my lips to his. And freaking hell, why does he have to taste so good? My tongue finds the traces of the tequila, salt, and limes he’s been having alongside his beer, and I want more. Then there’s his scent, that minty leather note that must be his beard oil. It stirs something in me, and I temporarily call off my anti-beard stance if that’s what’s making him smell so good.
He’s tense and hesitant, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, a deliciously terrible mistake. But it only takes him a fraction of a second to catch up and erase my fears.
When his burly hands clamp around my waist and he kisses me back, I melt on the spot. He lets out a low groan into my waiting lips as I sink into his lap. I tell myself I’m just playing this up for his sake. Curling into his lap is a purely altruistic act, likely fueled by the questionable number of drinks we’ve both had. It has absolutely nothing to do with my unresolved high school feud with Meredith or the clearly still lingering hormone-powered lust between me and Sly.
Except that doesn’t explain why my tongue has a mind of its own and finds the back of his mouth. It also doesn’t explain why I savor the feeling of his tongue doing the same and exploring my parted lips. It most definitely doesn’t explain why my hands find the collar of his shirt and curiously dip below it to trace the honed muscles of his back. His chest heaves against mine and my pussy clenches, begging for more because I’m now painfully aware of his hardening cock against the side of my leg, which leaves me questioning my sanity.
Yes—all those things are happening because I’m being so altruistic right now. Some vestiges of the feelings I used to have for Sly make me want to help him. It’s certainly not some form of petty revenge I should be ashamed of wanting against someone like Meredith. Then again, I don’t do anything to stop it either. My nipples tighten, and I’m glad I’m still wearing one of my hoodies because if I were stimulated any more, my decision-making would be—well—more questionable than it already is.
Each little sound he makes, his heated breath against my skin, the pads of his thumbs caressing my hips—all of it should be reminders that this means nothing. My brain ignores all those warnings and only listens to the needy part of me that says don’t you dare stop, this feels too good.
It’s only the clearly indignant huff Meredith makes when she reaches the table that finally manages to knock some sense into me, pulling me out of that trip down memory lane with Sly.
“Do you guys need anything?” Meredith asks, her voice laced with palpable irritation.
I look between her and Sly, shaking my head. “Sly was just about to pick up the next round. Right, Big Guy?”
I playfully pat him on the cheek, admiring the feel of his beard against my palm while I trace my finger over his hidden dimple.
“Yeah, right,” he says breathily, his eyes wide like he’s waking up from a dream. He finally looks at Meredith. “Another round for us and the other girls, please? Put it on my tab.”
