Page 28 of Stranded
“We’re no longer lost in the fucking desert,” he continued. “And I get to spend one more night with you. Plus, by the looks I’m getting tonight, if I play my cards right, dinner is on me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My back had snapped ramrod straight, and I frowned at him.
“It means that even without the makeup and designer clothes, I still got it. I can get us drinks on the house and?—”
“No.”
“Huh?” He genuinely looked confused at my bark.
“I’m not going to prostitute you for stale beer and some burgers.”
“I wasn’t going to have sex with them. Whenever I go to pubs, I get drinks all the time. That doesn’t mean I sleep with everyone.”
“I said no, Aiden.” I took his chin in my hand, his wince telling me I was holding him too tight, but I didn’t ease the pressure. “You may not sleep with them, but your taking drinks from them gives them the impression that you are available.”
“And I’m not?” He blinked up at me from big blue eyes and fluttered his lashes.
“I see someone wants a spanking.” I released him and got to my feet. “Stay there and—” And what? Try not to not look that beautiful? That tempting? That sexy? I scowled. “Just stay there and don’t move a muscle.”
“Yes, Daddy,” he said sweetly with a dimpled smile that didn’t fool me in the least.
For good measure, I leaned forward and kissed him hard, claiming him in front of the room. I, who never enjoyed too much PDA in the past, gave him a proper kiss with some tongue action before I released him. Aiden slumped against the booth, looking dazed.
Good.
At the bar, I ordered us food, collected our drinks, and took them back to the table. Aiden was shimmying his shoulders to the music, unbothered by the stare of the patron at the table across from us.
I slid into the booth next to him and handed Aiden his drink. “Here you go. Food should be here in a few.”
Aiden said something like thanks, but I was too focused on the man across from us, scowling as hard as I could at him whenhis eyes met mine. He quickly glanced away, but I hardly felt satisfied.
“Jackson, you’re not listening to me.”
I dragged my attention back to the boy tugging at my shirt sleeve. “Sorry. What was that?”
“Are you going to spend all night glaring at everyone else? How about you pay attention to me instead?”
“I can’t help it. Do men usually stare at you like this?”
“Pretty much.” He shrugged. “It’s no big deal once they’re not harassing me.”
“Men harass you?”
He took a sip of his beer and made a face. “Gah, this tastes terrible.”
I reached for his beer mug. “I’ll get you something else.”
He pulled back the mug. “I’m still going to drink it. It doesn’t matter.”
I shifted, throwing my arm over the back of the booth. “You were saying something about men harassing you?”
“I wasn’t. Don’t really want to talk about it. Just know that your version of complaining about the way I dress, walk, talk—basically exist—is light compared to other things I’ve heard outside the home.”
The air got sucked right out of my lungs, and my heart skipped a beat. A deep sense of shame settled into my gut as his words hit home. Not just from strangers. Not from assholes in bars or men yelling things from passing cars.
His comparison implied there’d been someone inside the home, too, to give him a hard time.
Me.
