Hothead (Irresistible 4)

“Fine. Then you can ask me three personal questions right now and I promise that I’ll Google you as seldom as possible,” I said. Drew smirked.

“Five questions and you Google me once while I’m present.”

I thought about it for a second.

“Okay. Deal.” I knocked back the rest of my cocktail. “And there’s your insurance that I’ll be completely truthful.”

“Great, then I’ll start with a hardball. How the hell did Mike end up with a girl who looks like you?”

I blinked, surprised by the question and actually, kind of insulted.

“I realize you’re somewhat complimenting me here, and I promise I feel no need to defend Mike right now, but considering I was dating him for nine years, digs at him are also digs at my taste and life choices,” I pointed out.

“Yes. I’m aware of that.”

Dick.

“Of course you are,” I snorted as I gave myself a tall pour of champagne. “Okay, well now that we’ve established how comfortable you are with insulting me, here’s my answer: I’m from a place that’s listed as one of the most white trash towns in Massachusetts. Every woman in my family had a baby by the time she was eighteen, and when my eighteenth birthday came and went, my mom and grandma literally threw me a ‘no baby shower’ with decorations from the Dollar General. If you’re thirty years old from Belfield and you have a job at the 7-11 a few towns over, you’re considered a pretty huge success. And I’m pretty sure I would’ve been that hugely successful 7-11 clerk if it weren’t for the fact that Mike told me we were allowed to dream bigger.”

I took a break from my ramble to take a gulp of the champagne I would’ve never dreamed of even holding in my hands when I was younger.

“So he got you out of there is what you’re saying,” Drew said as he watched me knock back most of my champagne in one big slug. “Easy,” he said, taking my glass and holding it away from me. “We don’t have to talk about this if it upsets you.”

“It doesn’t. I’m over it,” I said, and with all this bubbly in my system, I actually believed it. “I’m fine talking about it. Maybe in that sense, I’m bigger and badder than you are.”

“I think you’re just drunker than I am.”

“Yeah, well. You probably don’t even get drunk. You’re like… ten feet tall and three hundred pounds of muscle,” I mumbled as Drew smirked.

“Six-three, two-twenty, but yeah. Ninety-eight percent muscle as of the last physical.”

“Jesus, really?”

“Yes.”

Ugh, of course, I thought, letting my eyes dip down his front as he leaned back in his seat. God, those huge shoulders. Those abs. What did they look like under there? I was dying to know.

“Stop.”

“What?”

I didn’t even realize I was biting my nail till Drew removed my hand from my mouth and placed it in my lap.

“You look like you want to get fucked when you do that and I’m entirely too willing, so you need to stop while I still have enough blood in my brain to think straight.”

Oh… kay.

Wow.

His words shot straight between my legs and I wound up staring speechlessly as his eyes devoured everything from my squirming thighs to the stunned look on my face. I felt enough like his prey without even hearing his next question.

“When was the last time Mike even fucked you?”

Shit.

My cheeks burned at both the question and the answer, which was four months ago. And before that one time, it had been six. He caved to my crying over his lack of affection, humped me for about ten minutes and then rolled over without either of us coming. The worst part was that he faked his orgasm and when I asked if he really came, he said, “No. Can’t we just go to sleep though?”

Oh God.