“Actually, no. I forgot one.” He moved closer and spoke near my temple. “My favorite position is when I put my face between a woman’s legs. I know you said you don’t like oral, but now that we’ve been together, maybe I can change your mind. I bet you taste like a plum. All that sweet, sticky juice…”
Pictures formed in my head. Pictures I did not want there. “You have a filthy mouth.”
“Uh-huh.” He grabbed my hip and pulled me against his side. “And I want to make good use of it with you.”
My heart rocketed in my chest, shooting clear up to my throat. I stared straight ahead, grateful the slippery snow beneath my sneakers gave me something to focus on besides his hand creeping over my ass. Palming it like it was his.
Where was my sense of indignation? I wasn’t some piece of meat for him to drive a stake through. Getting turned on was not a rational response.
“Cat got your tongue?” he taunted silkily.
“Where’s your Corvette?” I tossed back, pleased when he braced. “Since you think you’re so good in bed, why do you need an old dude’s vehicular Viagra?”
“I didn’t hear you voicing any complaints when you were moaning my name.”
“We weren’t in bed.” I frowned at his sudden burst of laughter.
Had I really done what he’d said? Maybe. Hard to say. It wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on.
“You pegged me right the other night,” he said after a moment. “You said I probably kept my sports car in storage, remember?”
I didn’t respond. It wasn’t about pegging. I’d known he had a fancy car for a fact.
He blew out a breath. “I use it now and then, but I usually take the train. What about you?”
“I don’t have a car.” I brought my thumb back to my mouth. “Or a license.”
Abruptly, he stopped walking again, and I stumbled into his side. He gripped my arm to steady me. “You don’t know how to drive?”
I frowned. “I know how to drive. Sort of. I’ve lived here since I was seventeen. Hardly anyone drives in the city.”
“Seventeen? Your parents moved here?”
“No.” And that was all I was saying about that.
As the wind gusted, Fox reached down to pull up the zipper on my jacket. His jacket. I would’ve bitched at him for fussing over me again, except he’d dipped his head to work on the zipper and the breeze chose that moment to express deliver a double shot of his cologne.
The oh-so-male scent zapped straight to my suddenly hyper-bunny clit. Cripes. Settle down, down there.
“I could teach you,” he said nonchalantly as we started moving again. This time he pushed his hands into the front of his hoodie, so I dangled mine at my sides.
Since I was still focused on that annoying throb between my legs—I was walking, how could I even feel it?—I didn’t know what he meant at first. “Hmm?”
“To drive. I could show you how. It’s easy.”
“I know enough to get by. Besides, I don’t need to.” Not now anyway. I would when I moved with my sister, but she could give me a refresher course. And on a much cheaper vehicle than a vintage pussy magnet.
“It’s a good skill to have.” He paused. “I saw the schedule at work. You’re off Friday night. Why don’t we—”
“I have a fight Friday night,” I interrupted, already prepared for him to stop again. Which, of course, he did right on cue. “Do you have some sort of walking disorder? One foot in front of the other. It’s real simple.”
“Where?” he demanded.
I fidgeted, not liking the gleam in his eye. He moved aside to let a couple of guys enter the bar we’d just passed, then got all up in my face again. “In Bayside.”
“Why the fuck are you fighting all the way over in Queens?”
“Because I was invited to, and I could use the cash, okay?” I didn’t like his tone and showed him my displeasure by giving him a hard shove in the gut. “Not all of us have ’Vettes.”