If I was a lesser man, this place would’ve turned me off the second that I entered the premises.
I knew for a fact that all the men I brushed shoulders with in the political society wouldn’t be caught dead here.
The thought of my ex-wife coming into this place was beyond hilarious.
“What are you smirking about?” she asked curiously.
Breaking me out of my humorous thoughts, I said, “I was thinking about my ex-wife coming into a place like this. She wouldn’t be caught dead in here.”
Her brows rose. “She’s stuck up?”
“She’s stuck up, self-righteous, uncaring about anything but herself. She has a dog that hasn’t even seen real grass. When I say that she is spoiled, that would be an understatement,” I answered honestly.
Just thinking about Meryl made me want to open my throat with the pocketknife in my back pocket.
Six leaned forward, placing her hands on the insides of either forearm and then leaning her elbows into the table. “Why are you looking like the cat that ate the canary right now?”
I broke eye contact with her and reached for my burger, my appetite suddenly returning.
“My ex-wife is a real peach,” I said. “Thinking of her having to do anything that would make her uncomfortable, like come into a place like this, amuses me.”
Six’s eyes shone with mirth as she reached for a napkin and started to clean her fingers off.
When she was done wiping her fingers, she reached for another paper towel, moved her plate off the table, and then cleaned off the crumbs that were surrounding her plate, and wiping them onto the ketchup mess covered plate.
When she was done, she took her plate to the trash can in the corner, dumped everything out, then went even further to walk her plate to the sink behind the counter.
Crockett gave her a thankful look and said, “I almost have your stuff ready. I packed another couple of things for you, too.”
Six’s face showed her happiness at the news.
“Are you talking about your famous cookies? Please, tell me that’s what I’ll go home to,” Six pleaded.
My eyes went to Crockett, who had a pleasure-filled flush on her face.
“You’ll see when you get it home to Wyett,” she declared.
Six, laughing, turned around and came back to the table.
I’d just finished off my burger and was wiping my face when she did the same thing to my plate that she’d done with her own.
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for her to come back.
As I did, I watched the way she moved.
Confidently and without the least bit of uncertainty.
The damn jean shorts she was wearing were worse from the back.
She had a shredded hole near her right ass cheek near the pocket, allowing a slice of milky white skin to pop through. Also blatantly throwing in my face that she was wearing a thong.
Or no underwear at all.
But she wasn’t the type of girl to just go naked while hiking.
So yeah, she definitely had a thong on.
My dick, which didn’t wake up for just anybody, went hard as steel.
I rearranged my cock underneath the table, my eyes staying on her as she accidentally dropped a napkin and had to bend over near the trash can.
Though, my cock throbbing in my jeans wasn’t just because of the way she was bent over. It was because of her curse and subsequent kicking of the trashcan, too.
I liked her attitude.
I liked the way she could care fucking less if someone or something heard her and her naughty mouth.
Most of all, I liked the girl.
Too bad I was busy and doing things that were quite illegal. Six was a good girl, despite her naughty ways.
She didn’t deserve to be brought into my house of horrors.
Cock still uncomfortably hard in my jeans, and mind made up, I lifted from my chair, body tight.
She turned around and saw me standing, immediately beginning to frown.
“Are you in a hurry?” she asked as she pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time.
“No,” I lied. “Just thought you might want to go home and take your friend that burger.”
She frowned as she looked at the to-go box full of food.
“Yeah,” she said so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it. “How am I going to carry this on your bike? I didn’t think this through very well.”
“I’ll hold it on my lap. It’s not far,” I told her, voice husky.
She frowned hard, and that little pout around her mouth was almost my undoing.
Her head jerked up, and her attitude immediately changed.
Gone was the seeming sadness that I was winding up our day—and her subsequent kidnapping—and in its place was a cool, calm remoteness that made me think that she’d perfected this very act long ago.
Hooking two of her painted fingernails—one black, and one sparkly purple—into the loops of the to-go bag, she stared at me with distant eyes.