Page 43 of Scrubbing In
She drops her wallet and keys in front of her, and I hate that her attention is no longer on me. “Hey Danny, how are you?” she says to the man behind the bar.
“Not too bad. What can I get you? A Showgirl?”
Grinding my teeth at the fact this bartender apparently knows her regular drink, she shoots me a look I can’t decipher. It makes me want to throw my glass against the wall, her face and eyes are usually so expressive.
“Just water, please.”
Nodding, he fills a glass and places it on a coaster, then moves down to help another customer.
Keeping her eyes on the glass in front of her, she spins it and draws her fingers through the condensation. Then she abruptly looks at me as she says, “Fun fact, a Showgirl used to be named a Rockstar. But when Taylor Swift’sThe Life of a Showgirlcame out, I begged to have the drink updated and renamed.” A small smile pulls at her lips.
This confuses me. She must come here pretty often to have been successful in her endeavor. Her smile transforms into a frown at the expression that must be on my face.
“Do you know another Swiftie in this place?” I ask.
I sweep my gaze around the room as if the person in question will suddenly materialize, but all I see are other patrons not paying us any mind.
“Yeah, my sister and her wife. My brother wasn’t happy to replace A Rockstar, but we outvoted him three to one, so . . .” She lifts her shoulders in a casual shrug, then turns those big, beautiful green eyes on me. I must still be staring at her in confusion, because she says, “Oh, my family owns Nonna’s. Didn’t I tell you that?”
I shake my head, but hold onto this piece of information. Any tiny kernel of herself she gives me, I tuck away and hoard, knowing how private she is. I’ve learned next to nothing frompeople at work, even though she’s worked with some of them for years. Granted, I haven’t tried to dig too deep, not wanting to arouse any curiosity about why I’m asking about her.
I’m distracted from my thoughts when she lifts the glass to her lips and swallows. Goose bumps break out on her bare arms. She is wearing a tank top that shows off a sliver of her toned stomach. The form-fitting top hugs her breasts, and I’m disappointed I didn’t get to test their weight in my hands last night.
My silence or staring must make her uncomfortable because she starts fidgeting. Wiping her hands up and down the thighs of her wide-leg taupe colored pants and tugging at the high waist.
“Aleena.” The sound of her name ceases her wiggling.
“Julian, I’m sorry about last night.” When she turns those large round eyes up to me, I drop my head because I have to look away. It actually hurts to look at her as she rejects me. Again. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
I can’t speak. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, ready for her to strike another devastating blow.
“We just can’t seem to keep our hands off each other, can we? But I’m scared,” she whispers. Head snapping up, I have to strain to hear her next words. “You scare me, Julian.”
Rearing back, I stare at her in shock. “Fuck, Leena. It was never my intention to make you feel unsafe around me.” The words feel like shards of glass ripping through my throat.
Turning in her seat, her knees bump into mine. “No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. God, Julian, no. I—I meant my feelings for you scare me.”
Air I didn’t even realize I was holding in explodes out of my lungs. Angling my body toward her, nestling her knees between my spread legs, I grip her thighs. I look deeply into her eyes, whispering, “I get it, pretty girl. If they’re anything like mine,they’re big and consuming. But you don’t have to be scared because of them.”
She closes her eyes, cutting off my link to her emotions. And yet I find myself fascinated by the way her long lashes rest against her upper cheeks. I would count each lash if I had the time. She crinkles her nose and furrows her brow at the tickle of a flyaway hair. I gingerly sweep it off her face with my index finger. Her brow smooths over as she dips her head, following my touch.
Opening her eyes, a whirlpool of emotions stares back from the emerald depths. They have me pleading, “Leena, just give me a chance to prove your heart is safe with me. Don’t push me away.”
The noise around us fades with the bouncing of her eyes between mine, looking for a reason to trust me. A moment of silence crawls by, then her lips are colliding with mine. Responding on instinct, my hands find her waist, pulling her closer as I plunge my tongue into her mouth. The eager brush of her tongue meeting mine sends blood rushing to my dick.
Her little fists clench my shirt, pulling me closer to her. I grunt as a knee brushes the distended fly of my pants. I can feel her start to pull away, but I hold her face to mine, licking deeper into her mouth, desperately claiming her.
She is as consumed in the kiss as I am, wrenching back with a rasping gasp at the sound of a throat clearing behind the bar. Her eyes dart to the side despite my hold on her face, and I can feel the heat of her blush.
Begrudgingly, I release Leena, but rest my arm along the back of her barstool, hovering closer than necessary. The urge to assert my claim on her is staggering, when in reality, she is the one who holds all the power over me.
A woman rests her forearms on the bar top and leans towards us conspiratorially. “I hate to interrupt”—Leena snortsat the growing smirk stretching across her face—“it’s just, you’re putting on quite the show. And I know how you don’t really like being in the spotlight, babes.”
I feel Leena stiffen as she leans further away from me, glancing around the bar over her shoulder. A few curious and entertained faces are trained on us.
Embarrassed, she puts her back to the room. “Thanks, Sylvie.”
“No problem. I’m going to check in downstairs.”
