Why, you little—
I slice through the fruit, and the knife comes down, its point jabbing me right on the inside of my middle finger on my left hand.
“Shit!” I drop the knife and bring my hand up, the ache sinking down to the bone. I suck in air through my teeth. Dammit.
“Oh,” Jordan gasps and drops her knife, too, wiping off her hands. “I’m sorry.” She offers a regretful little laugh. “Here, come here.”
I suck the blood off my finger, barely taking notice that she’s pushed me down onto a bar stool at the island as she retrieves bandages from the cabinet.
Did I put those there? I didn’t put those there.
Rushing over to me, she peels a package open, and I see it’s a wet wipe, probably “anti-bacterial” something or other.
“I can do it.” I hold out my hand.
But she moves in anyway, inspecting the pea-size drop of blood balling on my finger again. “I know,” she says, “I just feel bad. I didn’t mean to piss you off and distract you. I was just teasing.”
I hiss as whatever’s on the wipe hits my open wound. “You didn’t piss me off,” I tell her, but it comes out as a growl. “Well, you did, I guess. You always do, but it’s in a good way.”
“In a good way?” Her brows furrow.
Yeah, like, you know, fun. You’re fun. And kind of funny. And pretty interesting. I don’t know how she makes my temper rise so quickly, and over stupid, petty shit, and I can’t explain why, but I like it.
I don’t know how to tell her that, though. It sounds weird.
When I don’t answer the question, she continues, her voice quiet and serious. “You know,” she says, not looking at me. “If you are interested in her, I can bring her around more. If you want.”
The girl in the orange bikini?
“Bring her around?”
She nods, wiping my finger still. “A sleepover or something maybe. You won’t have to make a move. She’ll jump you.”
She won’t look at me, but I stare down at her nevertheless. She wants to get me laid?
I feel a warm, light sweat cover my spine as I become aware of the heat of her body standing between my legs. I watch as she blows hair out of her face only for it to fall back into the same place again.
Orange Bikini isn’t the one I want jumping me.
Absently, I reach up and brush the hair out of her eye, grazing her forehead as I tuck it behind her ear for her. Her gaze rises, meeting mine as I let my hand fall down the strands of her smooth hair, and my heart skips a beat as we both stand there, locked.
I can almost feel her face in my hands. The urge is so strong to know what it’s like to hold just a part of her.
Jesus Christ. I drop my hand, looking down at the small wound on my middle finger.
“So do you want me to?” she broaches quietly, almost like she’s afraid of what I’m about to say.
I shake my head. “No,” I finally tell her. “She’s not bad, but she’s not what I like.”
She unwraps a Band-Aid and fastens it to my finger, slowing smoothening over the bandage again and again.
My fingers tingle where she holds them, and I watch her face, her focus still not leaving my hand.
And then suddenly, she nearly whispers, “Well, what do you like?”
I watch as she licks her lips, her breathing shallow, and the jolt to my cock, feeling damn near ready to tear something apart with my teeth.
What is she doing to me?