Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
His grin widens, the expression both lazy and predatory. “Very.”
God help me he’s one sexy motherfucker.
I set my drink down, fingers lightly brushing the rim of the wine glass as I try to hold onto some semblance of control.
“Well,” I say, forcing a steady tone. “I guess I’m asking for the highlight reel.”
He doesn’t respond right away, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make me fidget. Studies me, tilting his head and tapping the side of his cocktail glass with his thumb.
“I’m good with my hands,” he says at long last before raising it to his lips again. I can’t help but watch the way his Adam’s apple moves up and down in his throat as he swallows.
Why is that hot?
My mouth feels suddenly dry, and I grab my wine glass to take a sip, the cool liquid doing little to steady the racing of my heart.
I shift in my seat, ankles crossing and uncrossing under the table, the fabric of my dress brushing against my skin in a way that only adds to the heat simmering between us.
Squirm some more.
“What else?” I ask, my entire body practically burning up.
Gio takes another swig of his drink before swirling the amber liquid lazily as he studies me, the giant ice cube inside clinking side-to-side.
“Well. I’m good at reading people,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting in a knowing smirk. “Like right now, for example.”
I take another sip of my wine, desperately trying to compose myself, but the way he’s looking at me, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, makes it nearly impossible.
He wants me to ask and I oblige, because what else is there for me to say except: “What about me? What am I thinking?”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me with that same penetrating gaze, and for a moment, the silence stretches, thick and heavy, until I’m readjusting myself in my seat.
“You’re wondering,” he continues, his voice dipping even lower, “if my hands would be as good as I said they are.”
My eyes lower to his hands again, still gripping that glass, thumb stroking the side of it.
Up.
Down.
Up…
Down.
The rhythmic motion is maddening. Fascinating. Hypnotic. I can’t look away. I can’t stop thinking about that thumb running back and forth over my cli—
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You’re staring,” he points out, his tone teasing, though there’s an unmistakable heat behind it.
“So?” No point in denying it; doing so would only make him more impossible. “Was I not supposed to look?”
Before he can respond—his mouth is literally hanging open to speak—the server appears at the edge of the table, her bright, cheerful voice breaking the tension like a glass shattering on the floor.
“Here we go!” she says brightly, setting a plate in front of me and one in front of Gio. “One medium and one medium well!”
I blink, momentarily disoriented, and murmur a polite “Thank you” as the smell of seared steak and roasted summer vegetables wafts up to greet me.
The silence that follows when she walks away is heavy—still charged with that building sexual tension—hitting play on whatever game we’d been playing.
“Convenient timing.” I pick up my fork, stabbing a roasted carrot more aggressively than necessary.
“Was it?” he teases, picking up his knife and fork. “Now it’s your turn to give me your list of things you’re good at. It’s only fair.”
“Alright, fine,” I say, setting my fork down and leaning back in my chair. “I’m good at teaching, obviously. Debating. Making spreadsheets.”
“Spreadsheets?” he repeats, his lips twitching as if he’s trying not to laugh.
“Yes, spreadsheets,” I tell him firmly, lifting my chin—daring him to judge me. “They’re very useful and require a lot of skill.”
“I’m sure they do,” he says, his eyes gleaming with barely contained laughter.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re mocking me.”
“I mean—it was a pretty fucking nerdy thing to say.”
I lift my chin to look affronted, despite the fact I’m trying so desperately not to laugh. “It depends on who you’re asking. Some people appreciate organization and efficiency.”
God I sound like a prude.
Organization and efficiency?
My vagina dries up a fraction at my own, dull words.
Gio chuckles at me quietly, shaking his head. “Sure, but those people probably aren’t sitting across from you right now.”
“And what exactly would you prefer I say?” He wants me to match his energy, to throw it right back at him. But for some reason, the words feel clunky coming out of my mouth, stiff and awkward like I’m trying too hard.
I have no idea what my problem is—why I sound so stuffy and rigid.
I need to loosen up.
Relax, Austin.
He’s flirting with you, and he wants you to flirt back.
“Alright, Professor,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flip. “What else?”
The heat in his gaze sends a spark of confidence through me, and I decide to stop overthinking.