Muffin Top (Page 33)

“You’re not pushing me.” He slid his hand higher until his fingertips brushed her center, making her eyes flutter. “I’m fucking desperate to be between your thighs again—not anyone’s thighs but yours. And I will be, if you’ll have me.” He withdrew his hand, picked up his beer bottle, and hoped like hell she didn’t notice how badly he was white-knuckling his control right at the moment. “But not until tonight.”

Lucy laid the back of her head against the booth and closed her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Yeah, that was the desperation raging through his body, too. But he had to stick to the plan he’d cooked up last night. Build it up. Draw it out. Make her want him as much as he wanted her.

In other words, hope like hell he could convince her that he just might be more than a good lay.

“How many times do I have to tell you that patience makes it hotter?”

Going slow, as he was learning, was all about savoring, building anticipation, making the want a need. Fuck. Their entire trip so far had been foreplay, and he wasn’t about to blow it in the home stretch.

And whatever happened with Lucy, it wasn’t just a let’s-fuck-in-the-bar-bathroom kind of thing. It was more. It could be more. He didn’t know. All he knew was that this was different, and he couldn’t wait for tonight.

…

Lucy shut her bedroom door and put her thumbs to work.

Lucy: SOS

Gina: That sounds promising.

Lucy: In what world does SOS sound promising?

Gina: The one where you’re off gallivanting around with Frankie Hartigan.

Shaking her head, she crossed the room to her closet so she could find a sundress that would help her stay cool at the carnival tonight. These weekend long events were the social event of the year in Antioch and other small towns across the state. Families timed their family get-togethers around them so the out-of-towners wouldn’t complain there was nothing to do. Locals looked forward to them as a well-earned way to let off steam and check out potential dating partners. The county carnival was such a big deal that the reunion schedule for the night was left totally open so everyone could go—including her and Frankie, which, much to her chagrin, was why she was spending more time looking at her dress options and texting the reinforcements.

Lucy: Gallivanting? With Frankie? You are a hopeless romantic.

Gina: Hello? Wedding planner here. Of course I am. So what’s up? Did you kiss him?

She hesitated, her thumbs hovering just over the keys, her heart beating fast as she remembered that kiss and what came after.

Lucy: Yes.

Gina: And?

Lucy: More.

Gina: Hell, I was just looking to see if it was good. U had sex with Frankie Hartigan???

Lucy: Not yet.

But really that’s exactly where they were heading—a prospect that was both terrifying and electric.

Gina: Get you some!

Lucy: This is a bad idea.

Gina: Why? You have a thing against orgasms?

She flopped down onto the bed and let out an exasperated huff. Not that she was annoyed with Gina. Nope, the target of her ire was herself.

Lucy: No, because it’s Frankie.

Gina: Exactly. If the Waterbury chick whisper network is to be believed, you will have many, many orgasms.

Lucy: That’s the problem.

Gina: ???

Lucy: Because, despite what some people may think, I have options and I don’t need a pity fuck from Frankie, who has probably banged every other woman in town.

Gina: 1. Hell yes you have options. 2. Who said anything about a pity fuck? 3. No slut shaming.

Lucy: He just came on this trip as a weird favor for unknown reasons. And no shaming meant. He can fuck as many women as he wants, I just don’t want to be just another faceless number.

And really, that’s what it came down to. She wanted to be wanted for her, not because she was convenient.

Gina: So you like him?

Lucy: Of course I do. He’s very likable.

She let out a groan and closed her eyes. It wasn’t fair. She snapped her eyes open at the ping alert of a new text.

Gina: No, you really like him.

Lucy: Liking him would be a very bad idea.

And a moot point because it was too late.

Gina: Stop being so cautious and live a little. There’s nothing wrong with liking someone.

There was when the likelihood of ending up hurt was less than a sliver away from 100 percent.

Gina: You’re awesome. You know it. Stop focusing so much on maintaining that tough-chick facade and let yourself have fun without worrying about what it all means.

Lucy: Are you saying I’m overanalyzing things?

Gina: Only since probably birth.

Her bestie wasn’t wrong. It took work to always be on alert for a nasty look or a snide comment so she could be prepared to strike back. It was a survival skill that had translated into the job she loved. The skills she’d learned walking the halls of Antioch High School made it so she was always ready with the perfect answer for whatever crisis one of her clients found themselves in. Of course, it was really hard to turn that off—especially when it came to protecting her own vulnerable soft spots.

Lucy: Thanks for the chat. Gotta run.

Gina: No worries. Gotta go, too! It’s cannoli time. xoxo

Sitting back up, Lucy let all of it roll through her head, then stopped herself. Gina was right. She did overanalyze. But not tonight. She seized on the thought with both hands. Tonight she’d just roll with it.

Chapter Thirteen

The sun was setting, and downtown Antioch was packed with people for the annual summer carnival, but Lucy just kept searching the crowd for one man in particular. They’d gotten here fifteen minutes ago, and he’d disappeared almost immediately.

She scanned Main Street, looking down toward the big public parking lot that had been transformed into ride central with a neon Ferris wheel looming over the Tilt-A-Whirl and teacups. The street from the park to the parking lot was shut down to traffic and lined with booths offering everything from predictions of the future to games of skill. Sure, there were a lot of people, but finding a giant redhead shouldn’t be that hard.

“Looking for me?”

A surprised gasp escaped, and she whirled around. “Where have you been?”

Frankie held his hand above his head to show off a long row of tickets that dangled almost all the way to the ground.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” She was here for local beer and people-watching. That was it.

Frankie just grinned at her like a kid on Christmas morning. “Who comes to a carnival and doesn’t try to knock over the milk jugs with a baseball or ride the Ferris wheel?”

“This woman,” she said.

There was nothing fun for a woman like her in going to the guess your weight booth or having the carnival worker give that little oh-boy-here-we-go huff before shoving the safety bar into her stomach and fastening the latch.

“Okay, I won’t make you actually have fun at the carnival,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her tight against him in a way that sent her pulse into overdrive. “You can watch me win you an oversized stuffed llama. You know you’re desperate to have one to put in your office back home, so it can stare disapprovingly at your clients when they come to you for help after fucking up.”

“I don’t need any backup in that department. I scare my clients enough as it is.” It was true. She’d had football players who could bench press a car go apologetic after she’d read them the riot act.