Page 4 of The Summer Fling
"I'm efficient, and life is short."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
From behind the bar, Eli makes a sound that might be a scoff. I ignore him. That guy almost poisoned me with his new drink. He has no say in my life.
I'm about to answer Hannah when she threads her fingers through her hair and tosses her head back, her smooth, slender neck on full display. If someone asks me whether I'm a tit or ass guy, I'm going to say neck. Because I have never been this consumed with the need to plant soft kisses and suck the spot behind someone's ear.
Hannah is making it hard to think. Right now, I am no different than Chad or Brad or Kyle. My mind spins with all sorts of wicked ideas, and I cannot shake them off.
"You say you own this place, right?" She wipes a bead of sweat along her collarbones, and I lose my train of thought.
"I did?"
"Yeah, so why is the guy behind the bar making faces at you?"
I turn to look at Eli, who's not even bothering to hide his shit-eating grin, and grab the plastic napkin holder and throw it at him. It's a good throw. Accurate. He dodges it with a smile and two thumbs up. Fucking prick.
"His name is Eli, and I really should have fired him a long time ago."
"Is he your brother?"
The look of horror on my face only makes her laugh. "Hannah, I know this is our first time meeting, but please don't insult me like that."
"But he keeps staring at you."
"Don't let him fool you. He's collecting material to embarrass me later."
"What kind of material?"
"The kind where I'm talking to the most interesting woman I've ever met and trying not to stare at her mouth."
For the record, I did not mean it to sound like that. Just like the kiss-as-a-thank-you comment, this was supposed to be somewhere between a joke and the truth.
Instead of a laugh or even a smile, Hannah drops her gaze to MY mouth instead. Her lips part, her tongue peeking at the corner of her mouth, before she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth.
Just like that, my cock throbs … again. The world slides to a stop around us, and all I see and hear is her. She flashes me a hot glance, and when she speaks, her voice is lower. "Trying not to?"
"Failing spectacularly."
"Is this part of your excellent customer service?"
I let my gaze linger on her mouth. "No, ma'am. It's exclusive for you." Before I lose my nerve, I add, "Tonight, there's a 1960s surf party. Themed drinks, swing dancing, the works. Very tourist-friendly."
"Will you be there?"
"I'll be working. But I might take a break to dance with my fake girlfriend … if she shows up."
"She might … if she can find something appropriate to wear."
"What do you have so far?"
"A polka dot bikini. Very Marilyn Monroe meets Beach Blanket Bingo."
"Jesus, how old are you? Why do you know that movie?"
"Why do you?"
Images of her in a bikini slide into my mind, and a surge of heat, violent and sudden, courses through me. The floor under my feet is gone, and I'm this close to rubbing a hand against my cock. "I'm an old soul, Hannah."
