Hit the Spot
Page 5
I was a giggle away from choking on my own vomit. The first girl elbowed her friend, shushing her, then turned back to Jamie and, with a voice sounding years older than she most likely was, said to him, “I hear you give private lessons. Do you think you could teach me? I’m a fast learner and very eager to please.”
“Wow,” I murmured through a chuckle, looking between desperation and head-up-his-own-ass. “How ’bout I give you two a minute to work out your little underage arrangement. I don’t need to witness this. I’ll be back.” I moved to turn and step away when a hand gripped my forearm, halting me. I whipped my head around and glared at Jamie, yanking my arm out of his hold. “Get off.”
“I’m ready to order,” he told me, his face serious. He turned to the other booth and said, “Call Wax. You can set up your lesson time over the phone.”
The girl looked down at my arm as if Jamie was still attached to it, narrowed her eyes, then glanced from my face to Jamie’s, waiting until she landed on his before she showed her smile again.
“Great. I’m really looking forward to it,” she said, her voice lowering to a purr.
“Right on,” he replied.
“Totally,” she responded.
“God, it’s like I can feel myself getting dumber just from listening to this,” I commented, wincing as I rubbed my temples.
The girl eager for a lesson scoffed, shot me a hard look, then gave a much softer one to Jamie before she spun around and plopped back down in her booth.
Probably for the best. I was certain her kid’s meal was getting cold.
“You are so fuckin’ cute when you’re jealous,” Jamie said, his lips curling up. “I dig that, babe.”
“What do you want?” I asked, ignoring his comment, which was both absurd and completely untrue—in no way was I jealous—all while pulling out my pen and ticket book. I clicked the pen open and began doodling on the top of the ticket, writing Loser in a fancy script and adding devil’s horns and a pitchfork.
It was some of my best work.
Jamie chuckled under his breath. “Not bothering with the greeting today, Legs?” he asked.
I kept my gaze focused on my doodle as I continued tracing, and answered, “What’s the point? You never use my name anyway, no matter how many times I’ve asked you to.”
“I use your name a lot, babe.”
That admission drew my head up and paused my hand. He used my name a lot? No, he didn’t. He never used my name. I would’ve absolutely remembered hearing it, marked the occasion on my calendar, and looked back on it as the day hell froze over.
I watched Jamie’s eyes flicker wider, appreciating the attention I was now giving him.
“Excuse me?” I questioned.
Then he licked his lips, tilted his head with a smile, and added, “You spend the night with me, you’ll see what I’m talking about. ’Cause no joke, and I ain’t ashamed to admit this since, deep down, I think you’ll like hearin’ it, even though you’ll stand there looking pissed off and hatin’ on me like you always do. I know hard up when I see it and you’re wearing it, babe, so I’m gonna give it to you straight. Your name is all I’m saying when I’m in my bed, getting there by myself.”
My eyes widened. Holy … shit.
Jamie McCade, God’s model for perfection, was talking about masturbating. I really did not need that visual.
I pinched my lips together and inhaled sharply through my nose, all while ignoring the warmth spreading low in my belly.
“You’re disgusting,” I declared, my voice betraying me and sounding thick with want.
Damn it.
“Yeah, you gotta say that, Legs. Otherwise you’d be admittin’ shit to me you’re not ready to admit yet.”
“There is nothing to admit,” I argued.
“You liked what I just said.”
“I did not.”
“Did.”
Gripping my pen and ticket book with both hands, I tipped forward until I was leaning over the table, narrowed my eyes, and repeated with emphasis, “Did. Not.”
Jamie quickly reached out, wrapped his hand around my elbow now, and held on firm, a lot firmer than before, keeping me at the close proximity I so willingly entered of my own volition.
Shit. The first rule of sparring with Jamie McCade was to keep your distance.
Rookie mistake. I was screwed.
“How long are we gonna keep playin’ this little game?” he asked, his voice dropping low.
“What little game?” I asked back, playing dumb because Jamie was gripping me, he was staring deep into my eyes, and my heart was starting to beat so loudly I could feel it vibrating through my bones, and if I said the words clinging to the tip of my tongue—“I don’t know”—I was afraid of how they would sound and, worse, how he’d react to them.
Breathy. Helpless. Defeated. I couldn’t let him hear my weakness. He’d take advantage. He’d grip harder and stare deeper. He’d pull me closer and then …
“You know the game, babe,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I blinked him into focus as he kept on at me.
“I push and you push back, giving me your smart-ass mouth—which I dig, Legs, no question there—but I’m just sayin’ and this is a heads-up for you, I can only be so patient before I stop waiting around and start takin’. Your playing time is about up.”
My lips parted. I blinked again, struggling to wrap my head around what Jamie had just said, or promised, rather.
He’d just promised to take me. Soon. Like … soon soon?
“Uh.” I tugged on my arm still being held by a hand that was feeling a little too good at the moment.
He had big hands. Strong hands. Hands that could crush my heart if he touched it.
“Can you let go of me, please?” I requested.
Jamie gazed up at me. “You’re feelin’ it, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“This shit between us.” His rough fingers moved along my skin, sliding higher and wrapping firmer. “You’re feelin’ it. Right now. Fuck, babe, look at you.”
“I’m feeling like you need to let me go so I can do my job.”
“Not happenin’,” he growled. “Not when I get moments like this with you when I know it ain’t just me. I’m wearin’ you down.”
“You are not wearing me down. You aren’t even close to wearing me down.” I yanked my arm again and met nothing but resistance. “Do you mind?”
“I’m wearin’ you down, Legs,” he repeated.
“Nope.”
“It’s happening, babe.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Straight up, you say ‘no’ one more time and I’m gonna shut you up real fast in a way you’ll really fuckin’ like but won’t admit to liking. Think about that.”
I thought about it, for all of two seconds, because I was still tipped forward, meaning Jamie’s hand was still wrapped tight around my arm keeping me tipped forward and that quickly became the only thing I could think about.
“No, Loser, you are not wearing me down,” I grated. “Now let go of me or I’ll—”
“Wow,” I murmured through a chuckle, looking between desperation and head-up-his-own-ass. “How ’bout I give you two a minute to work out your little underage arrangement. I don’t need to witness this. I’ll be back.” I moved to turn and step away when a hand gripped my forearm, halting me. I whipped my head around and glared at Jamie, yanking my arm out of his hold. “Get off.”
“I’m ready to order,” he told me, his face serious. He turned to the other booth and said, “Call Wax. You can set up your lesson time over the phone.”
The girl looked down at my arm as if Jamie was still attached to it, narrowed her eyes, then glanced from my face to Jamie’s, waiting until she landed on his before she showed her smile again.
“Great. I’m really looking forward to it,” she said, her voice lowering to a purr.
“Right on,” he replied.
“Totally,” she responded.
“God, it’s like I can feel myself getting dumber just from listening to this,” I commented, wincing as I rubbed my temples.
The girl eager for a lesson scoffed, shot me a hard look, then gave a much softer one to Jamie before she spun around and plopped back down in her booth.
Probably for the best. I was certain her kid’s meal was getting cold.
“You are so fuckin’ cute when you’re jealous,” Jamie said, his lips curling up. “I dig that, babe.”
“What do you want?” I asked, ignoring his comment, which was both absurd and completely untrue—in no way was I jealous—all while pulling out my pen and ticket book. I clicked the pen open and began doodling on the top of the ticket, writing Loser in a fancy script and adding devil’s horns and a pitchfork.
It was some of my best work.
Jamie chuckled under his breath. “Not bothering with the greeting today, Legs?” he asked.
I kept my gaze focused on my doodle as I continued tracing, and answered, “What’s the point? You never use my name anyway, no matter how many times I’ve asked you to.”
“I use your name a lot, babe.”
That admission drew my head up and paused my hand. He used my name a lot? No, he didn’t. He never used my name. I would’ve absolutely remembered hearing it, marked the occasion on my calendar, and looked back on it as the day hell froze over.
I watched Jamie’s eyes flicker wider, appreciating the attention I was now giving him.
“Excuse me?” I questioned.
Then he licked his lips, tilted his head with a smile, and added, “You spend the night with me, you’ll see what I’m talking about. ’Cause no joke, and I ain’t ashamed to admit this since, deep down, I think you’ll like hearin’ it, even though you’ll stand there looking pissed off and hatin’ on me like you always do. I know hard up when I see it and you’re wearing it, babe, so I’m gonna give it to you straight. Your name is all I’m saying when I’m in my bed, getting there by myself.”
My eyes widened. Holy … shit.
Jamie McCade, God’s model for perfection, was talking about masturbating. I really did not need that visual.
I pinched my lips together and inhaled sharply through my nose, all while ignoring the warmth spreading low in my belly.
“You’re disgusting,” I declared, my voice betraying me and sounding thick with want.
Damn it.
“Yeah, you gotta say that, Legs. Otherwise you’d be admittin’ shit to me you’re not ready to admit yet.”
“There is nothing to admit,” I argued.
“You liked what I just said.”
“I did not.”
“Did.”
Gripping my pen and ticket book with both hands, I tipped forward until I was leaning over the table, narrowed my eyes, and repeated with emphasis, “Did. Not.”
Jamie quickly reached out, wrapped his hand around my elbow now, and held on firm, a lot firmer than before, keeping me at the close proximity I so willingly entered of my own volition.
Shit. The first rule of sparring with Jamie McCade was to keep your distance.
Rookie mistake. I was screwed.
“How long are we gonna keep playin’ this little game?” he asked, his voice dropping low.
“What little game?” I asked back, playing dumb because Jamie was gripping me, he was staring deep into my eyes, and my heart was starting to beat so loudly I could feel it vibrating through my bones, and if I said the words clinging to the tip of my tongue—“I don’t know”—I was afraid of how they would sound and, worse, how he’d react to them.
Breathy. Helpless. Defeated. I couldn’t let him hear my weakness. He’d take advantage. He’d grip harder and stare deeper. He’d pull me closer and then …
“You know the game, babe,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I blinked him into focus as he kept on at me.
“I push and you push back, giving me your smart-ass mouth—which I dig, Legs, no question there—but I’m just sayin’ and this is a heads-up for you, I can only be so patient before I stop waiting around and start takin’. Your playing time is about up.”
My lips parted. I blinked again, struggling to wrap my head around what Jamie had just said, or promised, rather.
He’d just promised to take me. Soon. Like … soon soon?
“Uh.” I tugged on my arm still being held by a hand that was feeling a little too good at the moment.
He had big hands. Strong hands. Hands that could crush my heart if he touched it.
“Can you let go of me, please?” I requested.
Jamie gazed up at me. “You’re feelin’ it, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“This shit between us.” His rough fingers moved along my skin, sliding higher and wrapping firmer. “You’re feelin’ it. Right now. Fuck, babe, look at you.”
“I’m feeling like you need to let me go so I can do my job.”
“Not happenin’,” he growled. “Not when I get moments like this with you when I know it ain’t just me. I’m wearin’ you down.”
“You are not wearing me down. You aren’t even close to wearing me down.” I yanked my arm again and met nothing but resistance. “Do you mind?”
“I’m wearin’ you down, Legs,” he repeated.
“Nope.”
“It’s happening, babe.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Straight up, you say ‘no’ one more time and I’m gonna shut you up real fast in a way you’ll really fuckin’ like but won’t admit to liking. Think about that.”
I thought about it, for all of two seconds, because I was still tipped forward, meaning Jamie’s hand was still wrapped tight around my arm keeping me tipped forward and that quickly became the only thing I could think about.
“No, Loser, you are not wearing me down,” I grated. “Now let go of me or I’ll—”
