He nods as he takes a seat. "I like it." He looks up at me with a wicked smile. "This is familiar."
My cheeks flush. Thoughts of last night fill my head. His fingers curling into my thighs. His lips on my skin. His cock driving into me.
Ahem.
I sit.
Cross my legs.
Take a long sip.
Stare at my new ink instead of at him.
"Is that one mistake, or a few?" He
sucks his coffee through his straw.
"A few." Hundred. Or thousand. Or maybe hundred thousand.
"Something in particular?"
"Yeah."
He doesn't ask for an explanation. He just leans back and drinks his coffee.
I copy his cool posture. His oh, look how relaxed I am, but I can't nail it. My limbs feel awkward. My back is straining. My arm just won't hang over the side of my chair.
He laughs. "Am I that obnoxious?"
"Not quite."
"I usually ask people about their ink. What it means. Most people want to talk about it."
"I already paid you."
"And fucked me."
"True." I take a long sip of my coffee. "But you don't strike me as the kind of guy who has to convince women to fuck him."
"I don't know. Tried pretty hard last night."
"Yeah. You want to get out of here? That's an entire sentence."
"Usually I pin 'em to the wall right there."
"Really?"
He raises a brow. "What do you think?"
"I don't know. You're different than most of the guys I know."
"The grad students?"
"Yeah." And the guys from my old job answering phones. And from my old life. Every part of it.
"Your ex have a name?"
"Ross."