I slap at her hand, about to yell at her, when I sense him near. My eyes snap up and land on Walker, who’s at the edge of the table staring at me. His legs are planted, his arms crossed, and his eyes are piercing into mine.
“Walker,” I practically purr at the heat in his stare.
The table goes quiet as I soak him in. My eyes stay focused on his as he openly rakes his down my body. When he raises them back, the beautiful hazel color has grown stormy.
“Emerson, where’s your jacket?”
“I don’t have a jacket. That’s why we’re near the heaters.” I point to the two heat lamps flanking the sitting area.
His eyes drop to my chest, and without another word, he takes off his leather coat and hands it across the table to me. Stupidly, I stare at him, not taking it, because I’m too focused on the black t-shirt that hugs his chest and arms, exposing a portion of his tattoo. My mouth starts to water, and my stomach drops, flipping around.
I love that damn tattoo, and he knows it. I’ve never dated a guy w
ith any kind of ink before; however, I’d suspect it’s not the actual ink, but the man himself. It is in my case.
Maren nudges me, bringing back to our audience.
“Thank you, honey, but I’m not cold,” I reassure him sweetly.
He moves fast, sidestepping the small cocktail table and standing in front of me. In a flash, he’s bent down, wrapping it around my shoulders and tugging it closed.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re burning this top when we get to my place.” He doesn’t try to hide his aggravation.
“It’s a jumpsuit, not a top. What’s wrong with it?”
At my question, Nina and Rachel start howling.
“Your nipples are poking through, you ditz,” Maren explains, joining them.
Walker doesn’t budge, clearly not pleased.
“Oops.” I try to lighten the mood.
“Hello, ladies.” I recognize Marcus’s voice behind Walker. “Oh shit, who pissed off the grunt? I feel the testosterone flowing.”
I lean up, wrapping an arm around Walker’s neck and look over his shoulder. “Hey, Marcus, nothing’s wrong, Walker was worried I was cold.” I pour on the sugary sweetness, hoping Walker can pick up on the sarcasm.
Instead of backing off, he takes advantage of my position, circling my waist and lifting me out of the seat. Gracefully, he spins and sits, pulling me into his lap.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting down.”
“But you can’t sit here.”
“I just did.”
“Walker, honey, this is girls’ night.” I lean in closer so the others can’t hear. “I don’t want to get kicked out of the club.”
His thumb and forefinger tilt my chin, so he can brush his lips against mine. “One beer, and then I’ll leave you girls until you’re ready to go. I couldn’t stay at the bar much longer.”
“You were at the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you know where I was? Even I didn’t know until we pulled up.”